


Cradles

by EnterWittyNameHere, NotBrooke



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: 1920s, Alastor is Bad at Feelings (Hazbin Hotel), Angst, Asexual Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Asexuality Spectrum, Attempted Updates Every Other Week, Being in a relationship with Alastor is it’s own warning, Bittersweet, Blood, Canon Personality, Canon Related, Established Relationship, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Family, Flappers, Fluff, Gore, Human Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Human Mimzy (Hazbin Hotel), Hurt/Comfort, Loss of Virginity, Love, Minor Original Character(s), Misunderstandings, Period-Typical Racism, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Sex, Pregnancy, Roughness, Sexual Content, Slang, Unplanned Pregnancy, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:15:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 18
Words: 238,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25685644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EnterWittyNameHere/pseuds/EnterWittyNameHere, https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotBrooke/pseuds/NotBrooke
Summary: "Mine." He repeated, nose buried in the sweet smelling spot just behind your ear. His large hands came to clutch tightly to the back of your dress.Your expression twisted from shock, to confusion, realization, and then finally… finally, relief. When you closed your eyes, tears poured down your cheeks as a sob fell from your lips. His. You were shaking in his grip.“D-does this mean…” you couldn’t continue, a hiccup escaping you.Would he stay?Or would he let you rot just like the victims that remained wholly unaware to you?
Relationships: Alastor (Hazbin Hotel) & Reader, Alastor (Hazbin Hotel)/Reader
Comments: 174
Kudos: 586





	1. Should’ve Seen The Other Guy

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to Cradles! 
> 
> This story is a collab between EnterWittyNameHere and NotBrooke, fueled by our own curiosity by wondering how exactly our insufferably handsome radio host would react to the fact that his favorite little darling was, in fact, pregnant.
> 
> Please be aware that his personality in this book is borderline dismissive and can be seen as emotionally abusive. We understand that this may not be everyone’s cup of tea, so warnings will be applied appropriately to each chapter. 
> 
> Thank you!
> 
> CREDIT:
> 
> Alastor/Hazbin Hotel: Vivziepop/Spindlehorse  
> Authors: NotBrooke & EnterWittyNameHere
> 
> SLANG INDEX (Added as mentioned):  
> Boob: Idiot  
> Mustard Plaster: Someone who you want to leave but refuses to  
> Whipped: In Love/Crushing on  
> In a Tizzy: State of nervousness  
> Egg: Man  
> Gowed Up: High/on drugs  
> A half: 50 cents  
> Flapping gums: Talking
> 
> SET IN: late 1920’s

_heart made of glass, mind of stone_

_tear me to pieces, skin and bone_

* * *

  
  
_Tick_.

_Tick._

_Tick._

Nights like these, in which you contemplated the sole reasoning behind your existence, happened more often than not. 

Millions, if not trillions of thoughts of ’if there would ever be a _reason_ to this’ or, ‘if you would ever find some relief to this torture that you just… couldn’t get enough of _’_ ran rampant through your mind. If the sensations of hopelessness, weightlessness, floating in the void of your skull (which consisted generally of perplexity, longing, apprehension, all fantastical emotions that made you _feel_ alive, but never enough to offer you the freedom you sought would ever end) persisted any longer at this god-awful hour of the night, you were sure you would be left to simply crumble under the weight of maintaining the prison that your fragmented soul inhabited. 

Oh, if you had even uttered what he was doing to you, how he pulled at you and made you dance on the edges of what truly felt like insanity, your father would have put a bullet straight through his skull.

How easy it would be to simply be rid of his pestering, how much relief you would get knowing that he wouldn’t be there to bother you anymore, how _awful_ it would be to learn such a thing. It drove you mad! Oh, he drove you up the damn wall with his theatrics and antics, but you couldn’t stop from laughing, from feeling your heart skip a beat (you were sure he was well aware of what he did to you), from letting your mind wander whilst your family lay sound asleep and you were left alone in the dark! But tonight was different. 

You couldn’t sleep. 

You felt antsy, _restless,_ though you had no real reason to be, no future events that could cause you anxiety, but no matter how long you closed your eyes and waiting for the shadows to caress your mind and offered you the relief of being completely comatose to the world that gave you so much stress, you couldn’t. 

In fact, you had found that this happened on nights when _he_ hadn’t come by, when he got so backed up on his radio show or other nightly habits that you couldn’t help but… worry about him. 

Of course, the fact that you were the woman of the house tending to your younger sibling who had, thankfully, finally gone to sleep for the night was something to cause a plentiful amount of anxiety as well. Sure, the streets of Louisiana were often safe, but there was still crime; there was still danger that lurked in the corners of unsuspecting victims houses or alley ways.

It was rare, but it still happened.

_Tick._

_Tick._

_Tick._

You couldn’t help but worry. 

You wanted him safe, but he infuriated you to no end. For God’s sake. You crinkled your nose as you leaned against the cool countertop, your fingertips curled just around the edge as you held a glass of warm milk. It should have helped; it helped you when you were a child. It wasn’t helping now. Why wasn’t it helping now? You just wanted to go back to sleep! Oh, but that incessant ticking of the clock made you want to rip it off the stand,

_Tick._

_Tick._

_Tick._

In the otherwise silent kitchen, other than the house settling in for the night, you were left to your own thoughts and helpless anxieties. The milk hadn’t even been sipped, the heat wisping off of the top as you contemplated just setting it down for the night and forgetting about it, going back to bed and hoping that just a quick stroll around the house was all you needed to work through the weeds of your mind. You took in a deep inhale.

And then you heard it.

The familiar rhythmic pounding at the door that betrayed a presence, had it not been for the voice that followed through, you would have gotten your Daddy’s rifle and shot a round straight through that door. No amount of damage repair cost was worth your life, and you would have gladly taken a stern talking to than risk it.

“Darling.” Muffled by the wooden door, white paint chipped off from the lack of attention given to a house that was old enough to be part of the revolution. Perhaps even _ev_ olution. There was another knock, a bit more insistent this time as you held your breath, closed your eyes, steeled yourself, placed the milk on the counter and walked over towards the door. 

What on earth was he doing at your house so late? And with that knocking… 

“Darling, come now. I know you’re there! Open up for me.” 

“I’m here, I’m here, stop knocking!” You whisper-yelled, your hand wrapping around the cool metal of the knob before you twisted it and pulled the door open, just as he was about to slam his fist into it again. And there he was, clad in his usual attire, save for the fact that he was drenched head to toe with...

“What in...” the words died in your throat as you caught sight of him. Screaming wouldn’t have done you justice, so you didn’t even bother. He looked like he had just rolled around a tub of… _You hoped to God’s good graces that that wasn’t blood._

But from the aroma that he carried with him, your hopes were diminishing by the millisecond. Interrogation was out the window as Alastor stepped forward, and you doubted you would have even been able to get a word out with how your own blood drained from your face. 

“Hello, sweetheart!” Without a care in the world, Alastor flung his arms outwards in a show of dramatic flair. "Why, I was just out enjoying a nightly stroll and thought to check in on my favourite little darling!" 

Behind his rounded glasses, his brown eyes were wide, pupils blown out and nostrils quivering. The muscle in his hand cramped, fingers twitching once, twice, barely holding back on his near overwhelming need to touch you. 

He swept his gaze over your form; your hair was mussed, clearly from a restless attempt at sleep, your plain nightdress rumpled from being tugged by your anxious hands. His lips curled in a manner that was more beastly than human as he moved to block the entrance of the door with the tall mass of his form. 

"You see," he stage whispered, his voice carrying in the stillness of the night air. "I ran into a spot of trouble and I thought who better to lend a helping hand than you?" 

You had been pulled into a non-consensual whirlwind of emotions and physical actions, though you sincerely doubted you had the manpower to overcome what he so desired to do to you, if anything other than manhandling you like a doll. His bloodied hands moved to cup both of your cheeks, your expression a mixture of confusion, disgust, and annoyance as he squished your face like you were some child. 

It was with some deep, growing sense of pride that he smeared the pad of his thumb across your bottom lip (much to your distress), trailing cold gore up to the edge of your cheekbone before he released you.

You, however, couldn’t do anything. 

You couldn’t pull your head away when he held you there, certainly couldn’t stop him from entering your home, couldn’t unwind your fingers from his when he spun you out, couldn’t alleviate the pressure of him suddenly resting his chin on your head; you couldn’t even stop your heart from beating with a bit more ferocity than before - he always had some sort of effect on you, and it infuriated you to no end. 

But if you could have stopped him, would you have wanted to? You didn’t want to answer that, because you _knew._ Oh, how you knew. It was taunting, almost. Your attention barely faltered from his clothes, where it was stained to the point of no return, the scent that wafted off of him that no amount of flowers could ever suppress. But you had always been witty with your responses, almost impulsive in nature - and you had a hunch that it was one of the reasons he stuck around.

His voice was wistful, "I hate to intrude on you, darling, but would you consent to playing nurse and getting me back to my dandy self?"

So to piss him off: “I don’t think I have the qualifications.” 

You tried your best to look up at him from your position, but with him practically resting on you, it was near impossible. Giving in was a common occurrence between the two of you, especially with his persistence, but even with the fact that he was covered in blood, you didn’t… really _want_ to move. Couldn’t will yourself to be the one to step away. 

So you did what any sane human would do and remained still, letting him lay his head on yours as if you were his own personal headrest. 

“So uh, are you just going to stand here, in my family home, covered in blood and not explain what happened?” You hoped it was a deer. You felt bad for them, honestly. Such peaceful animals. _Please say it was a deer._

A chuckle rumbled up from deep in his thin chest, dark and edged with some cruel tone he often only hinted at. Alastor felt the small shift in your stance, the tiny detail that told him he had your full attention despite your best efforts at ignoring his antics. 

Your smaller frame fit securely against his own lithe form, the soft flowery scent from your shampoo tickling his nose regardless of the smell of iron and decay he knew himself to be emitting. Under your dainty skin, the steady beat of your pulse pulled him into a state of near apathy; for the briefest of moments, Alastor was struck with the overwhelming need to shelter you, protect you from the darkness and terror that slumbered in the shadows of Louisiana nights. 

He shook out of that state rather quickly. 

"It was a truly fearsome creature," He continued, airy whispers fluttering the baby hairs growing from your temples. "I made a miscalculation and victory slipped through my fingers."

Alastor moved then, the speed of his movements rather jarring, carding his fingers through your tresses. A slight tug had your neck angled so he could better see you from his vantage point, while still looming over you. 

All you could hear in that moment was your own heartbeat as your blood rushed through your ears. The amount of distance between the two of you at this point was minuscule, and you were beginning to feel the phantom sensations of the blood upon his own cheeks, dried and cracked across his flesh like paint. It would have been so easy to believe it was paint, but you knew. You just knew. It wasn’t paint, it wasn’t dye, it was blood. 

His face, streaked red, slowly tipped and honestly, it almost appeared as though he meant to brush his lips against yours; at the last moment, he paused, breath fanning over your cheeks with a teasing puff. 

"Perhaps a kiss to make it better?" There was a sardonic twist to his grin, his eyes glinting mischievously behind his glasses. 

You felt queasy, even more restless than before as you felt his breath puff across your face, which was thought to be physically impossible - but here you were. The bridge of his nose, the rims of his glasses, any distinctive feature was blurred from the lack of distance, and you swallowed thickly out of habit. 

“Maybe…” you hesitated, before letting out an anxious laugh. 

“Maybe once you’re not as disgusting.” Despite knowing his preferences for physical actions being applied to him, you pressed a hand onto his chest to push him away. “You’re a mess.” Your eyes darted to the side, focusing on something else. Anything else. 

Alastor's smirk faltered slightly at the weight of your hand against his chest; however, despite the ill start to the evening, things had brightened considerably once you answered your door, and so in a fit of good will he allowed it, stepping back so he could survey you more. 

"I dare say I'm not the only one in need of a touch up, doll." It was with a raised brow that he took in the bloody fingerprints and small trail on your cheek, his frenzied motions from before showing clearly on your skin. 

Your gaze was somewhere else, your body now turned away from him. With a spike of annoyance blooming in his chest, Alastor pressed a dramatic hand to his sternum, voice taking on a rather peculiar tone that _almost_ made you look in his direction, but you managed to bite back on your curiosity. 

"We ought to be ashamed of ourselves! Why, it's rather unbecoming for a young belle to get herself into this state.”

_No thanks to him. What a mustard plaster._

“Alas! If only we had access to soap….running water…" He added a wink, for good measure. 

Seeing you still refuse to look at him fully, Alastor simply removed his glasses and cleaned them pompously on the overly saturated and stained material of his shirt. It had little effect other than to smear the mess around, but what was a little showmanship now and then? 

With another deep sigh, the man made a step forward when something seemed toq coil tight and snap, his left leg suddenly crumpling under his weight. He tumbled, albeit gracefully, into the small side table close by. The sound drew your attention, enough that he was able to catch the flicker of your eyes as they darted to the source of the sound. 

“What-“ 

Two minutes. That’s all you asked to get your racing heart under control. But two minutes was too much - in fact, you could _never_ take your eyes off of him or he adopted similarities to a toddler that couldn’t keep his hands off things, or got into too much of a hassle. You stood there for a good minute trying to process what was going on before you took a step forward. 

Not only was he a mess himself, but now there was a smear of dried and wet blood on the tiled floor! 

Still, you couldn’t stop yourself from the concern that overtook your original aggrieved state, completely dismissing it to tend to him. For some reason, seeing him on the floor made a smile twist onto your face, amusement bubbling in your chest - all without your knowledge. 

“You’re such a boob. Look at what you’ve done! Now the blood is on the floor.” You gawked, before walking around him to grab a towel. A moment passed as you silently navigated through the cabinets, standing on your toes to reach for the first aid-kit. 

Did you know if he was injured? No, not exactly. But you had enough run-ins to know that until you got a good look at him, you never knew how much blood would be his or the victim. Your fingertips dusted over a box. “A-ha!” You grabbed the handle and pulled it off of the counter, before quietly closing the cabinet. When you turned around, you simply looked down at him with a raised brow. 

You had the opportunity, so you were going to take it. 

Bowing at the waist, you leaned over him: “So, how’s the weather down there?” You snickered, before offering him a wink of your own. It was fun while it lasted, before your attention faltered towards his leg. 

“... What even happened?”

"I'm rather _foggy_ on the details, darling," Alastor drawled, eyes squinting with mirth. 

He made to stand again, this time succeeding in standing long enough to straighten his coat sleeves before turning with an affected huff, despite seeing you take a step forward. "No, no! I'll see to myself, not to worry. I can see the burden I've brought to your home…" 

He slumped forward, dramatically falling onto the carpet of the living room as though in slow motion. With a final sigh, he draped his hand over his face, grin twitching with ill hidden glee. "Simply leave me to bleed out on the carpet, darling. You need your rest, after all, and what am I but some poor radio host utterly charmed by your graces?" 

You slowly crossed your arms, the first aid kit hanging loosely in your grip as you followed after him. “You _are_ a burden.” You agreed wholeheartedly. “But one that is my responsibility since you came into my house, remember? Or is that _foggy_ , too?” 

You offered him your hand.

“Unless you’d rather me do it on the floor.” 

He was weird. Maybe he liked that sort of thing. Honestly, at this point you wouldn’t even be surprised.

"Oh, cruel woman, you wound me with your words!" Alastor cried, voice raising a bit too much. "I'm doomed, unless…"

You barely had time to comprehend exactly what was happening before you felt yourself being yanked down, and your eyes widened a fraction, a ‘whoa’ escaping you before you snapped your attention to his face and managed, somehow, to dig your heels into the carpeting. 

“No.” You stated, before pulling back into a classic game of tug-o-war, though, the rope was unfortunately your arm. 

The steady pressure insisted your compliance.

“Al, come _on._ Dad will kill me if I get blood on the carpet, so I have to clean that up before he gets home from his business trip. It’s _hard_ to clean!” It would take days. 

Unlike men, you actually had to _do_ things. 

“Please. Just, go to the couch at least.” You pointed to the couch that he was leaning on. 

Despite the pain still radiating faintly in his injured leg, Alastor managed to quirk his lips into an all too charming grin. 

"How about a deal, sweetheart?" His voice was deceptively airy, "I'll move my sorry hide to the couch so you can work your magic, and then I get that kiss you owe." Another wink was sent your way, effective even with the flaking blood on his face. 

At this point, you were willing to do anything to get him off of the floor. “Yes, yes, now get up. Here, I’ll help you.” You stopped digging your heels into the carpet as he stopped yanking, and you let out a sigh of relief (mostly to yourself, though) and allowed him to use you to steady himself. You were smaller than him, but that was a given.

_Everyone was._

With a groan, Alastor allowed you to settle him on the couch, wariness from his earlier experience showing in his lax muscles. He eyed you closely as you moved to sit next to him, the first aid kit snatched up and at the ready once more. 

"You truly are a doll," He murmured, some unfamiliar emotion passing over his face before his ever present grin returned. The crackling of the fireplace, which you had yet to put out to offer some ambience in the otherwise silent household, was much needed distraction. 

You had popped open the kit when you felt the tip of his finger tilt your head in his direction, your fingertips pausing in their search for the rag just in case you poked yourself with a sewing needle. Your body’s response was almost immediate, after the cloud of confusion passed; a phantom of chills running up your spine at the sound of your name leaving his lips, almost in a questioning state. 

A flurry of butterflies filled your stomach, and your fingers twitched as if they were uncertain of what to do. You felt the need to say _something_ just as much as you felt the desire to say nothing at all, to just see where it went, see what he did - you had always been curious. 

It would be the world’s worst lie if you tried to convince yourself you didn’t care for him, because if you didn’t, you would have kicked him out a long time ago. 

You wouldn’t have been sitting here with him, you wouldn’t have felt your heart going stir crazy, and you _certainly_ wouldn’t have felt your body warm from something other than the heat in the room. Your breath wavered as you stared at him through his dirty glasses, before you blinked multiple times and snapped yourself out of your trance that he so easily put you in. 

You cleared your throat. “Can… you take off your coat and shirt?” And then you sputtered out a quick: “I mean, to check if you have wounds.” Ha-ha, yeah… 

Where had your confidence gone?

“Or you know, you can just tell me if you feel pain anywhere there.” You motioned towards his chest. 

In response, Alastor blinked several times, as though processing the full extent of your words. His preferences were no secret, and although the two of you engaged in banter and the occasional flirty comment once in a while, he had made his desires, or lack thereof, quite clear. 

That said, the thrum of adrenaline still lingered under his skin, pulsating along in time to his heartbeat. Coupled with the ache in his sore muscles, Alastor found himself rather drawn to the intoxicating well of possibilities that could come from this, if he played his cards right. 

"Perhaps you're right," The man sat up just enough to begin shrugging off his coat. "Better to get an eyeful… of the damage of course." He smirked, making sure to take his time unbuttoning his dress shirt. There was something about the way you would blush over it all, despite your outward front of annoyance and irritation towards him, Alastor was more than aware of his hold on you. 

Something he took great pleasure in. 

You took in a deep inhale. Maybe you should turn off the fireplace. You were suddenly uncomfortable with the intensity of the temperature, and your body made a show of that by betraying you with a shaky exhale and the darkened coloration of your cherub cheeks. You could see the lean muscle beneath his shirt, more appropriately seen when he began _taking it off—_ Oh, you were staring. You snapped your attention to the kit.

Focus.

“So, um, right.” You closed your eyes harshly. “Right.” You whispered to yourself before you grabbed the rag. There was a water bottle in the kit, which helped had the case of dehydration ever occurred, but for now it assisted in getting the gore off of him. Twisting off the cap, you saturated the towelette before looking back up to him. 

Despite having a tolerance for blood, the man was absolutely _covered_ in it. Though, his shirt took most of the force, so it wasn’t as bad as it could have been. Scooting closer to him, you put the kit on the other side of you. “I’m going to wipe you down, okay? It shouldn’t hurt if you don’t have any cuts, so just tell me.” 

Alastor eyed the rag closely for a moment, as though deciding whether it would meet the requirements, before nodding and settling back once more so to better allow you access to his torso. The first tentative wipe of the cool, damp cloth made him jump slightly, his skin slightly overheated from the heat from the fireplace. 

He felt your hand hesitate, and then resume once he had succeeded in calming his show of nerves. It wasn't very often that he allowed others to touch him without him somehow first establishing that contact. Whether it was a sign of his growing sentimentality or your doleful innocent trust in him, he wasn't too sure. 

For one reason or another, particularly from the motions you made and how tall he was, you had to clamber over him at times to reach certain spots, but you didn’t touch his neck or face. You forced yourself to focus on the task at hand and not the fact that you were over a shirtless man that may or may not have made you feel things.

He took the time to watch you, to study the reactions that crossed your face, the way your brows twitched or your tongue gently poked out when you were concentrating on the task at hand. After a while, he grew seemingly numb to the motion of the cloth and simply observed you, making mental notes. 

“I’m done. There’s no cuts or wounds, thankfully.” You leaned back, resting on your knees as you gave him a once over. “Well, on your chest. Honestly, you probably should have just taken a shower.” You laughed, though it was betrayed by your nervousness through the way it escaped you. 

“I could get you a clean shirt, if you’d like.” Mentally, you were beginning to wonder where you would even find one. Your father’s would most likely fit - you hadn’t any brothers to steal from, or else it would have been a no-brainer. “Or I can wash yours,” you looked over to the shirt on the floor, which was amusingly folded neatly despite being disgusting and dirty. You tucked a stray piece of hair behind your ear as you looked back up to him, trying your damnedest not to focus on his exposed chest.

“I can _also_ show you to the bathroom if you want to wash your face.” Despite your desire to clean him yourself, you were very aware of his resistance against physical touch. The fact that he even let you clean his chest, stumped you. Though he was an enigma, and you doubted you would ever fully understand him. 

There was some strange new tingle that settled over Alastor’s skin, and with a slight (but well hidden) moment of panic, he watched as you sat back on your knees and mentioned washing up. Knowing an out when handed one, Alastor cleared his throat and adjusted his dirty glasses, dastardly charming under all the grime. 

He shifted slightly, nerves once again showing despite his best efforts. He knew that though the blood on his shirt had not been his own, his leg was still weak and the thought of showing weakness in front of you suddenly had him rather hot under the collar. Speaking of collars - out of habit he reached to straighten his bow tie only to find that he was indeed still without all his attire. 

"I'm afraid I'll have to ask for a tad more _support_ ," He gave a wiry chuckle and nodded to his injured leg. 

You followed his gaze and blinked once. 

Oh.

“Change of plans,” you got up then, taking the kit with you. “I’m going to get ice, unless you know there’s a cut under there that I can’t see.” You stood and stretched, particularly your legs because goodness, they were numb from the position you had been in. “Here,” you grabbed a pillow off of the other side of the couch and offered it to him. “Put this under your leg to give it elevation. Helps the blood flow, and lessens the swelling.” 

And before he could respond, you were out of the room and into the kitchen, speaking to him all the while. “Try not to move, you’ll just make it worse. The less weight on the leg the better.” If he had a broken bone, then he would have been in a hell of a lot more pain than he was already in, so at least you were certain that it wasn’t the case. 

Grabbing a new rag, you doused it in warmer water, before going to the freezer and grabbing ice. Then, all while multitasking and putting the ice in a bag, you began talking:

“You’re lucky you knew when to back off or…”

You were rambling at this point out of your uncertainty. You were happy as hell for the distraction, honestly, and your speedy reactions and comments were mostly due to your nervousness. And you walked back into the living room just as quick as you left it. You stood behind him and looked down to his fogged, messy glasses with a lopsided smile.

“You know, It could have cost you _deer_ ly.” 

Your eyes squinted in amusement as you tried your best to be unaffected, but if he touched you, he would have undoubtedly felt how _hot_ you were. 

You had forgotten about the fact that you were also filthy, no thanks to him of course. 

"That was _punderful_ darling, truly." His tone held a soft note of boredom, but the crinkle of his eyes gave away his mirth. You were truly a fiery little thing, something that endeared you to him endlessly. What fun to be had with such spirit! 

"Your bedside manner is to be commended," He quirked an eyebrow, smile becoming a small, closed thing. It was genuine, much less ostentatious than the one he normally chose to constantly wear; he felt an odd rush of mixed emotions towards you in that moment. 

You were a pretty dish, and your sense of humour and wit kept pace with his own, something needed in a companion to accompany his hijinks about New Orleans. You were clever and a quick learner, having proved yourself a worthy dance partner by quickly taking to his instruction. You were a fine match, suitable as any woman his mother had wished he would find. 

And a chance find you were. When Alastor had first laid eyes on you, it had been with the full intention of making you yet another victim. He had easily lured you in with his usual charms, but had surprised himself at how attached he became. In fact a lot of what you did surprised him; another reason he kept you around. While he wasn't normally the type of man to entertain surprises, you kept Alastor on his toes just enough for him to keep coming back. 

And now, for all his troubles, Alastor found himself experiencing something else for the first time. A strange warmth had settled in his chest, spreading outwards with every beat of his heart. His fingertips tingled again with the need to stroke your skin, his stomach coiling as he tried to come to terms with this sudden sense of yearning.

It was rather pathetic. He prided himself on his facade, a master of cat-and-mouse games. Feeling decidedly attached to another person was not in his plans. And yet -

Without much thought, Alastor's hand came forward to once again cup your cheek. Your skin was flushed and warm, and he wondered if perhaps it wasn't due to the temperature of the room. The pad of his thumb traced over the gore that had transferred from him to you, taking a brief moment to appreciate the sight of you covered in _red._

He was, without a doubt, someone that kept you satiated and satisfied with your rather uneventful life - being unwed and an older sister to one; your father did not have much time to further his line of succession with how busy he was, which was an oddity in and of itself, but not at all stranger than the uncommon occurrence of a single-child family. 

Each house that you had come across were either created for large families of five or six, or sometimes even two or three. You lucked out of that one, you supposed. A fact that you kept quite hidden was that you weren’t all that thrilled of the common lifestyle of the average woman; cooking for her husband when he got home, sending the children off to school, cleaning the house amidst that. 

It was something that suited most, but not all. Flappers thrilled you, and if you had more skill in such a thing, you would have possibly even considered looking further into the rebellious lifestyle. You just couldn’t see yourself doing this for the rest of your life, and if you were forced to, considering how you were groomed to be a perfect specimen for a charming gentleman, you wouldn’t have been satisfied. But Alastor was different. 

He made it all seem worth it, in a sense. He gave you just enough to keep going, and perhaps it was a bit cheesy, but you subconsciously considered him to be some sort of light in the dark. He had the ability to give you something more than this drab place could ever offer. 

A silly little crush, an old wife would claim, and despite the way you desperately tried to stay unaffected because you _knew_ his preferences, you _knew_ his lack of interest, you _knew_ you would most likely get hurt, but the most infuriating thing about it all was that you couldn’t help but let him lead you down the spiraling hole of no return. 

He was your method in the madness. 

It was inevitable. You knew just as well as him, no matter how many times you tried to push him away, told him that you didn’t belong to anyone, that you were too deep into whatever mess this was to get out of it. Your breath stilled, uncertainty blossoming over the entirety of your body as you came to the realization of what exactly he was doing - touching you, cupping your cheek, oh how his calloused palm gave you a chill, his fingertips gently pressing into your cheek.

You felt your walls crumbling by the second as you closed your eyes and leaned into his hand. You felt heated, uncomfortable but _too_ comfortable at the same time, antsy, but fighting with yourself to maintain composure because you didn’t want to move. You wanted to say something, to ask him a question that hadn’t formed into your mind quite yet, but all that left your slightly parted lips was a soft exhale. 

Bouts of affection were a rarity, and your lack of experience paired with his own often led it in the direction of mistakes and impulsive comments that ruined the mood. The two of you never got far, you never inquired about him ever doing such a thing, a peck on the cheek, forehead, or on the lips, but never more than that- but tonight. Tonight, for some reason, you felt different. 

It made you feel things that you hadn’t before; sensations that were minimally familiar, but otherwise unknown to you. 

Alastor stiffened, a thrill of unease running down his spine; he felt you lean into his palm and his moment of disassociation ended rather abruptly. He was prone to moments of random pensiveness, his mind racing with endless possibilities of endless experiences. The world was a stage, after all- 

Now that his focus had returned, the man reached up and quickly removed his blood streaked glasses. Alastor blinked several times, as his eyes tried to focus on your image once more. Up close, his vision was better, his nearsightedness more of an inconvenience than a true impairment. 

Even with his sight a bit blurry, he was able to map the running cracks in the long-since dried blood that still coated your cheek. Your nightdress hadn't been spared much either, deep crimson stains having saturated the front, running from your collarbone to the dip of your waist. All in all, you were a rather magnificent sight, and that familiar tug of _need_ washed over him again. 

He could see your mind working, churning gears that correlated with a small tick that appeared in your temple when you were deep in thought. It was new territory for the both of you, but in that moment, Alastor was hit by a wave of curiosity, and emboldened by the knowledge that he most certainly had the upper hand (given your state of clear nerves), removed his palm from your cheek to instead rest it on your shoulder, fingers tracing the pattern stitched into the material of the collar. 

For a man usually so well versed and silver-tongued, there was no quirky quip to be found. 

You found yourself in just as much of a whirlwind that he was. The sensations of all different emotions of physical reactions drowning you in a sea of uncertainty; a land that had once been so clear on the horizon now lost to the fog that had rolled in. You weren’t sure how you got here, exactly. 

It was a bit funny how every single plan and decision in your life ended you up here, aiding a man than made you feel _different._ It was such a complex feeling that if you were asked to describe it, you would have said ‘anxiety’. 

Anxiety was never a good thing, but with him, it was. It confused the absolute hell out of you, and pissed you off to a whole other degree because he didn’t even have to _do_ anything. With his hand trailing down to your collar, you took in a shaky inhale and stepped forward, briefly breaking the contact, just so you could move to the side of the couch.

“Would… you like me to clean your face?” 

The hand that held the towel now shook as you motioned towards it, and when you noticed it, you grabbed your hand with your other one to steady your nerves. It was only up to this point where you failed to understand the true intensity of your desires, and it made it that much more difficult with how he was _looking_ at you like _that._ You weren’t even sure if he was aware of his expressions - even his smile was softer, sweeter, genuine and crafted to lure you in.

But you supposed he already had.

Alastor tore his gaze away from you, glancing down at himself to finally take stock of his form. His hands were grisly, some of the staining having spread to his forearms. His slacks, although dark coloured, showed splashes of crimson. He could only imagine the gruesome scene that must exist on his face. 

Clearing his throat to push past the sudden onset of nerves (which generally came on anytime you were this close in proximity). 

"Yes, I suppose that's a fine next step," He murmured, keeping his smile soft and his expression open. The tingle of curiosity had come racing back to tickle the base of his spine. With a sudden hit of inspiration, he decided to see if his interest would be returned…

He positioned himself to lean up against the armrest of the couch more, and with a gentle gesture to his face, closed his eyes in a show of theatrical bravado, lips twitching upwards into his all too familiar smirk. 

You could hear the wood crackling just behind you, the walls glowing with the flame that grew and shrunk in tandem with the position of the wood. 

You could hear the ticking of the grandfather clock just off to the side, the settling of the house that was far too old for its best interest, and a thousand other minute noises that helped you calm your nerves - but with it, like a small ember, as you saw him lean back and expose himself and some sort of vulnerability simply by closing his eyes to you, curiosity bloomed.

_Tick._

_Tick._

_Tick._

As if you were rusted, your joints moved in a janky manner before you managed to return to reality, and with it, the smooth grace that was groomed into you at a young age.

You wanted to touch him, you wanted to run your fingers through his hair, you wanted to do so many things and yet your mind told you otherwise. He probably wouldn’t let you. “May I…?” Your gaze shifted towards his waist, then - it was possibly one of the most erotic positions you would have been in (yes, sitting on someone’s waist was erotic to you, considering how unladylike it was often claimed to be).

Your skin buzzed as your fingers twitched atop the fabric of the rag, eyes flickering from his face, trying your best to skip over his exposed chest (but failing miserably), and to his lap before repeating the process.

One brown eye cracked open at your question, eyebrow curving upwards to match the curve of his lips. His keen hunter's eye caught the movement of your gaze, your skin flushing noticeably even in the dimmer lighting. 

Swallowing against the dryness that settled on his tongue from nerves, Alastor reached out and grasped your wrist, catching you off guard enough to have you pitch forward. Ever the gentleman, his hands braced you and, taking opportunity from the considerable size difference between the two of you, took it upon himself to maneuver you into a comfortable position atop his lap. 

"Comfortable, darling?" Alastor practically purred, his eyes half lidded with ill disguised anticipation. 

_No. Yes. Absolutely. One-hundred percent_ **_not._ **

You were currently at war with yourself on whether you actually felt comfortable. Oh yes, you did. You felt too comfortable that it became uncomfortable, and the moment you found yourself at a loss for words, it was the same moment your hands had landed on his torso to steady yourself. 

Your eyes fell to the lean musculature of his body, the stretch and visibility of his ribs when he took an exceptionally long breath or some other motion. You swallowed thickly, before you slowly reeled yourself in and, with a gentleness that you did not have earlier (where had that gone? Could it have possibly been a fluke?), you pressed the rag to his cheek. 

“Yes,” you murmured back after a pause to collect your overstimulated thoughts. It didn’t make much sense, but you found yourself content with the realization that not everything had to. The rag was slow, but with enough pressure to get the dried blood off of his cheek. You moved to just under his left eye then, and then his forehead, before switching sides of the rag to a cleaner part to continue the process. 

It was mostly quiet, but it was primarily because you couldn’t think of anything to say despite how many things were running through your mind. You wanted to ask if it was okay, if you were doing an alright job, but when you opened your mouth, all that was released was a shaky breath that ghosted across his face. Once the majority of the mess was cleaned, though some stains still remained that you wouldn’t be able to clean off yourself, you then moved the rag to his chin. 

But even with that, you couldn’t stop looking at his lips. 

_No. He wouldn’t._

“You’re okay- clean?” The words were jumbled and nonsensical before you cleared your throat and shook your head. “I mean… yeah.” You scrunched your nose in self-made confusion. “You’re sorta clean now,” gosh, you were making a fool of yourself. 

Though in hindsight, you were certain that nothing could have ever prepared you for this. 


	2. Houston, He Has So Many Problems

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ⚠️ WARNING ⚠️ 
> 
> Do not continue further into this chapter (or this story) if you are considered a minor as this chapter contains explicit sexual content, or are sensitive to topics such as: Non-Con elements, blood, distress, anxiety, or manipulation.
> 
> Thank you. Stay safe!

_... Though in hindsight, you were certain that nothing could have ever prepared you for this._

* * *

  
With a quick roll of his shoulders to dispel the lingering unease that always settled under his skin when another touched him (regardless of who that other was), Alastor raked his gaze over your form, for once looming over _him_ and sent you his most smarmy smirk yet. 

"As much as I appreciate you doting over me, little darling, I am a man of my word." His eyes flickered over your form once more, before he brought his hand up to gently grasp your chin and draw your face closer. "I do believe we had a deal, and I intend on claiming that particular prize…" 

His words trailed off just as his lips ghosted softly against your own; his lips were chapped and chilled from the damp rag, but firm and confident in spite of his lack of experience with the fairer sex. 

Oh, how he stalked you. You were his willing prey, whilst he was a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Nimble and swift in his movements that made you victim to the advances that you couldn’t fend off; he lured you into a false sense of security, and despite how much you were inclined to believe that you were one of the smartest people alive (you weren’t, it was part of the natural human egotistical nature), even those that were, would not be able to escape his charm.

He was insufferably charming, and you wouldn’t have been lying if you stated that he was far more attractive than most gentlemen in your age range. He was pretty as a picture, and you were particularly protective in keeping him just as he was. 

You didn’t have to ask what your part of the deal was, which was something that had been lost to you amidst the chaos, for he was already manifesting it into reality. With his nose so sweetly tucked against yours, with how his breath was puffing onto your face, with how you could feel the butterfly kisses of his eyelashes against your forehead…

With your nightgown pooled at your thighs, you shifted slightly, but just enough to close the distance and press the softness of your lips against his own.

Your lips molded in perfection to his own, you could feel each indentation - only a single peck, but even after that, you were simply breathless. Your eyes were open just barely when you pulled away to return to your position of simply ghosting your lips against his own, each breath causing that small flame to ignite and grow, deep, deep in your bones.

“Al…” you breathed his name, a gentle lap of a whisper in the air, your body becoming putty in his hands as you lost your hold on reality - ignorance was bliss, and the only thing that mattered in that moment was him. 

Your skin was alight with chills and heat, and you wanted nothing more than to feel his touch on you, to feel his lips, his _love_ in the most simple of terms. 

Nothing else mattered. 

When you had shifted on his lap, clothing bunched and body poised, Alastor became aware of the heat radiating from your core. The warmth of your weight against him, coupled with the knowledge of what lay hidden behind your simple nightgown, caused a spark of heat to flare in the pit of his belly, muscles there growing tense.

Hearing you whisper his name, as though some hymn dropping from your lips, Alastor's body seemed to react on impulse. The hand still at his side abruptly clenched, scrambling to find purchase on the material of the couch. The other came to fist gently in your tresses, feeling the silky smooth texture slip through his fingers as he cupped the back of your head as though you were made of glass.

Regardless of his uncertainty of the act itself, and taking comfort in knowing you were just as inexperienced as he was, Alastor pushed aside his nerves and again his lips connected with yours. This time, following your lead, his lips fit firmly to your own. They were soft and warm; he was able to faintly taste the iron that lingered there from when you had brushed against him earlier. 

It shot a jolt of desire, heady and intoxicating down his spine, and he felt himself responding to the near overstimulation of new sensations. Under the pressed lines of his slacks, he could feel himself begin to stiffen, encouraged by the small movements you were making in response to his kiss. 

While it was true he had never had any real desire to explore the more carnal side of human nature with anyone before, it was undeniable that you were having an affect on him, physically at least. Although if he were to admit it, his brain was quickly becoming clouded, his ability to process becoming overshadowed by a new, _exciting_ sense of control and possessiveness. Your body was responding to him in ways he had never seen before, and the power rush was intoxicating.

The hand gripping the couch came away to instead grasp at your waist, his large palm encompassing the expanse of flesh just under your ribs. He flexed then, and felt you shy away; he noted the reaction as a ticklish spot, but it did not deter him from furthering his exploration. 

His hand trailed from the curve of your waist around to the dip of the small of your back. From there, his fingers climbed upwards, counting each individual vertebrae of your spine through the thin material of your gown. They hesitated upon reaching the hem of your neckline, following the stitching once more until coming to rest on the top clasp. 

He paused here, every last ingrained gentlemanly manner screaming at him for some decorum. 

There was something inside of you that was curling, twisting, _squeezing,_ melting, and everything in between. It was uncomfortable, no, but it was unbelievably hot to the point that you wanted desperately to rid yourself of anything that was unneeded - but not yet. Your breath was shallow in your lungs, primarily from the lack of space between the two of you, but nevertheless, virtually nonexistent. 

When you felt his hands on you, exploring, mapping, curiosity reached its paramount in your own body.

While you pressed your lips again and again to his, your hands remained still against his chest, never once moving to navigate across him as he was doing to you. You were nervous, your uncertainty prevailing through all other emotion - fondness, affection, and a dozen others that you couldn’t begin to comprehend simply from your lack of experience. You felt as if you moved, you would mess it up, but you needed to know, especially when his fingers teased across the strap of your gown.

“W-“ you were cut off by his lips connecting to yours again, before you finally managed to pull away just enough to get the rushed words out of: “Are you sure?” 

You were close enough to fan your breath across his own lips, swollen from the bout of affection the two of you had committed. How unladylike to lose something as precious as virginity to a man you were unwed to - your mother surely would have had a conniption. You had been raised to believe that it would surely make you unfit for marriage; though, truth be told, you never found yourself fit for it anyways. 

And as infuriating as Alastor could be, if you could have chosen anyone, it would have been him. How unfair it was that you were uncertain if he even returned the attraction, for he claimed to have a lack of interest in such a thing, but here he was, bruising your lips with his own, offering you something that was so undoubtedly precious that you got slightly overwhelmed with it all. 

You hovered your lips above his own, the moments that passed had your heart running a marathon. You were so breathless. He made you so breathless.

Alastor heard your rushed question, felt your lips tremble slightly with uncertainty, and managed to pull himself back just enough to meet your gaze in the semi-darkness. His head felt heavy, and he gave it a quick shake, looking for all the world like some dog shaking water from its ear. 

He felt momentarily uncertain, before the tiny voice in the back of his mind _urged_ him as it always did to take control, to master what he was unsure of and use it to his gain. 

_Mine_ , the voice said. A searing, burning flare of greed unfurled itself in his chest. He took in your swollen lips, colour darkened by the rush of blood under the thin skin. Pride joined the fray, and against his own discretion, he realized he wanted nothing more than to mark the rest of your body, whether it be with his lips, hands or teeth. 

For once the man forwent without some complicated speech.

Instead, he answered by trailing his lips along the curve of your cheek, down until they met the sensitive skin of your neck. He continued, caught up in being able to feel the rush of your pulse, blood thrumming along in your jugular, a stark reminder of how fragile you truly were. Here, he slipped and gave in just enough to press his teeth to the spot between your neck and shoulder, delighting in the faint taste of salt that he found there.

_Yes.  
_

It was a silent answer, but one that had you give yourself whiplash from the fact that _Alastor_ was initiating it.

He was no stranger to initiating touch, of course, but this - with you. Your stomach flipped when you felt his lips trail down your jaw, and then your neck, and just as he opened his mouth, you gave in and practically bared your neck to him. Your hands, too, forgot the unspoken rules of his lack of interest in physical contact, and for the first time, and reached up to grab his own. 

Because of the position, you whispered hotly into his ear words of praise because by god, you knew that the man had an ego of a god damn king. 

"All this over some mess," you couldn't help but moan breathlessly. "If it was mine, would you feel the same?" You gasped as he gave your neck a gentle nip.

Your words were lost when he gave your head another tug back, slotting his mouth over yours. You were falling into tandem with his kisses easily, and it didn’t take you long to forget all about the boundaries, because you followed exactly what he had done, and attempted to kiss down his jaw. 

"I can't believe you've been hiding this side of you. A-Al, no ones ever..." You hesitated before going further, ghosting your lips over his own neck - you were just copying at this point; you had no idea what you were doing.

“... Touched me like this.”

Your words, coupled with the small gasps and shivers of delight your body was giving off, meant Alastor felt as though he was truly burning up. You had gained just enough of your usual confidence back to mimic his actions, and as the true weight of your words hit him, his mind's eye flashed with an image of you spread out on your back, pliant and eager to receive his ministrations, as a stream of crimson trickled from the soft skin of your neck…

Determined not to give in to the lesser of his more basic desires, Alastor instead forced himself to turn to his attention back to his exploration of your body. 

The moment you felt him run his hands over your gown, you pressed your lips to his neck, and even went as far as running your own teeth down for a second. You eased the red lines that your blunt teeth somehow still managed to leave, but perhaps that was simply because of how the heat between the two of you affected the natural complexion with a darker hue. 

It was almost like he didn’t know what to do, but you were in the same boat so you couldn’t really blame him. 

You paused in your kisses to move your mouth back to hover above his own. “You don’t have to be such a gentleman.” As if to further emphasize your point, you pressed your lips to his before pressing your teeth on his bottom lip, pulling it out with raised eyebrows as if to say ‘told you so’. Your tongue swiped across it, before you let him go, your forehead coming to rest on his for a moment. 

“What would you like me to do?”

It seemed for the briefest of moments that the poor man left his body, before bringing himself back by focusing on the mingling of your breath, the way your heaving chest knocked against his. Pushing aside his moment of panic, he paused to collect himself, rubbing the end of his nose against yours in a surprising display of affection. 

You felt his lashes flutter against the skin of your cheek, and when he spoke next, the warmth from his breath caused goosebumps to form on your skin; something Alastor naturally noticed, his lips curling into a smirk once more. 

"Well dearest," His voice was thick, raspier than his usual tone. He sounded winded still, his thin chest still heaving. "I'm rather wet behind the ears when it comes to these things, but I do believe you are rather overdressed for the occasion." He sold the line with a rather dashing wink, hands coming to rest on the gentle curve of your hips. 

A spike of nerves caused your heart to flutter, a murmur of the muscle as it increased in intensity. “I regret to inform you,” you pressed a kiss to his forehead, “I am in the same boat.” So despite going at this at a snail’s pace, you wanted to make sure you were doing it _right._ Leaning back, you looked to your shoulder and unclasped the strap, before going to the other one - without any support, it immediately slipped down your arms.

You wouldn’t lie; it was nerve wracking. You doubted he minded, but in your own insecurities, you felt your confidence diminish as you moved to pull the gown off of you, slowly, as if to steel your nerves or perhaps even to offer him that much more of that entertainment he so often chattered about. Whatever it was, the moment that you were rid of the gown, you tossed it just next to his own shirt that lay on the floor, uncaring of its exact placement. 

You didn’t meet his eyes immediately, instead letting them fall to his waist that you were currently atop of. The moment that you realized the change in position from jostling to get off your night dress, you let out a shaky sigh. 

Through the fabric of his slacks, you could feel the muscle that betrayed his physical desires, and with a tentative but curious minuscule rock of your hips, you felt that delicious friction, even if you were completely separated. Oh, that fire that twinged deep in your gut had sparked to life was so delectable. 

You probably could have gotten off by simply rocking your hips against him alone. 

The gentle sway of your hips and the sight of you bare before him was almost too much for Alastor to comprehend. He was a man of well thought out plans and schemes, every last detail plotted; your hips undulating against his made his breath stutter in his ribcage and his hands clamped painfully on your sides, although searching for some way to ground himself amid the flurry of sensations. 

His physical response to your actions was undeniable; he was hard and swollen, straining against the restraints of his slacks. Each time your warm core pressed down, seeking to chase that friction, his length twitched and jumped, a deep ache settling in the recess of his belly. It was enough to drive the last ounce of trepidation from his mind. 

He was a bit unsettled to see his hands were shaking as he raised them, this time bringing one to cup the swell of your breast. The skin here was delicate, softer; in a moment of brazen courage, he gently swiped the pad of his thumb, calloused and warm, over the nipple, watching as it pebbled under the attention. 

Your eyes had closed as you tried to focus your hardest on what was happening, but if there was anything that Alastor was talented at, it was making things a lot more difficult than they needed to be. When his thumb swiped over your nipple, a gasp escaped your lips. You were drowning in your own little world that you had barely even noticed that you were mouthing small “please’s" as you continued to roll your hips. 

The friction, however, was not enough to get you to that sweet edge - perhaps it would have been if the emotional attachment hadn’t been alive. Clawing your way out of your tiny world of sensation, you blearily leaned into him, pausing in the rolling of your hips despite your body aching to continue. “Please, may I…” the words died on your lips as did your confidence. 

Everything was so _hot._ You leaned up and attempted to place an open-mouthed kiss to his lips: “Please may I make love to you?” You probably looked so pathetic, pleading for him, _begging_ for him. You wanted him so bad. You wanted nothing more. You wanted to lose yourself to him.

You were willing to give him everything.

His eyes snapped up to meet yours, momentarily drawn away from his focus on your chest. There was a faint pause, in which the _tick tick tick_ of the clock could be heard in the sudden silence. Sounding as though from some great distance away, a burning log crackled and popped, and Alastor shuddered as though shedding the last residual remains of his uncertainty. 

In a moment of gentle intimacy, the man traced the outline of your lips with his fingertips, before dropping his hands to the buckle of his slacks. With a rather showy flourish, he had the button popped and the belt loosened enough that the tenting of his briefs was more than noticeable. With one less obstruction between the two of you, he was able to feel the heat of your core and the slight slick of your arousal dampening both your underclothes. 

He murmured your name then, sounding more like a prayer than a title. 

"You're already mine, darling." Alastor crooned. "Now you can take what's yours." 

A shiver ran down your spine then, pulsing, consistent with your heartbeat that thrummed in rhythm to the intensity of the situation. _His._

You were his.

The hairs along the back of your neck stood straight, your baby hairs pressed flat against your damp forehead that was already possessing a sheen of sweat both from the warmth of the room, and the physical activity that the two of you were partaking in. Without grace you lifted yourself up and awkwardly removed the last layer of your clothing, a line of arousal attaching you to the fabric before it snapped as you threw it off to the side. 

Chewing on your bottom lip anxiously, you moved to gently press against his briefs, palming at the sensitive flesh that lay just beneath, truly an important and curious investigation underway as you settled just above his knees - his injury unaffected (you were still aware of it). With one last glance for reassurance, you slid the belt off of his waist and let it fall to the floor with a _thump._

“Can you raise your hips for me, please?” With a silent explanation, you hooked your fingers into his waistband. 

Nostrils flaring, as though to catch scent of the slick now coating your inner thighs, Alastor shifted, narrow hips lifting with little hesitation. 

With a less than smooth movement, you managed to free him of both his slacks _and_ briefs, the latter taking a bit more maneuvering to complete (you were doubtful any explanation was needed), before you could truly admire the view.

The crumbled fabric was less than appealing, you didn’t pay much mind to it, but the thing that made you absolutely breathless was the fact that he was sharing this vulnerability with you - he was _trusting_ you with this, to take him as he had taken you metaphorically, instead of physically. But this… 

With a twinge of hesitation, you scooted up a bit and settled yourself just before his length, your hand reaching out to gently trace your fingertips across his tip, trailing down to the base, featherlight touches as your focus remained. At least, it did until you felt his fingers twitching restlessly against your hips - you had barely noticed them returning there to begin with. 

His nails were digging into your skin, and you paused in your curiosity to peer down to one of his hands, and then up to his face, eyebrows knitted together in concern as if to ask if he was okay. But you didn’t break the silence - no, not quite yet. 

Your least dominant hand reached down then and attempted to peel his hand off of your side (no doubt that those red marks would leave bruises) and simply hold his hand, your thumb brushing over his knuckles before bringing it up to your lips, to which you pressed a kiss. Whether it be for comfort for the two of you or whether it was because he had the tendency to physically become too aggressive with his movements, you weren’t entirely sure.

Maybe both. 

But to have him like this gave you a sense of that delectable high he played with on the daily, and you were less than willing to give it up. At least, not easily. 

So with your other hand, you grasped his length and pressed your thumb to the tip, where a bead of his arousal had already collected. He was swollen, hot, twitching in your grip and you changed pressure through your first full feel of him, your cheeks dusted in a darker hue, a soft pant escaping you as if you lacked the ability to take in steady deep breaths.

Alastor jerked at your bold touch, his tongue darting out to wet his still swollen bottom lip in a show of nerves. His smile tightened, and the one hand left on your hip squeezed painfully until he seemed to catch himself and eased off. His breathing was ragged; he had never really felt the need to explore his own body in such a manner, and the vision of you perched atop of him, holding him in your dainty hand and smearing the evidence of his arousal on the tip was nearly too much for his frenzied mind. 

The ringing in his ears had returned, heartbeat painfully loud; muscle in his inner thigh ticked in time. He shivered and cleared his throat, desperately attempting to remain in control in spite of his growing desire to give in and test the boundaries of your body-

“How is it?” You inquired softly, taking your eyes off of the prize for a moment to meet his own. 

"J-Just Jake, sweetheart!" His voice cracked and his polished Trans-Atlantic tone blended with his deeper, natural drawl. 

In a wild attempt at regaining his normal level of control, Alastor wrapped his hand around your own still settled on his pulsating length. His fingers gave a slight twitch, and then urged your hand to move in time with his own shallow strokes. 

Your attention returned back to his length as his hand wrapped around your smaller one, allowing him to lead you, watching with heated curiosity as the flesh was stretched and eased with the motions.

Your eyes were hooded, the heat between your thighs sticky as you restlessly moved your hips (albeit subconsciously of course) to alleviate the awkward, almost uncomfortable feeling. The only sweet friction you could get at this point was from his own clothing that lay jumbled and hastily pulled down amidst a fantastical show of desire.

Your stomach flipped, your fingers aided in the gentle movements against his cock simply from the thin sheen of sweat that had begun to cover you, body slightly overheating from the events that presently took place. Your lips were parted, the saliva that was once present now missing as you thickly swallowed on nothing but your own breath. The only thoughts that lay in your vacant, once jumbled mind were those of carnal nature, curiosity fueled on simply by the fact that he was _yours._

Only yours.

Your hesitation had died out only moments ago as you came to terms with the fact that what you were committing was essentially social suicide (but you couldn’t bring yourself to care). Selfishly, you couldn’t see past this for the two of you, wanted this moment to last forever, wanted to carve it into your memories so that even if he stated he had forgotten it (you doubted he would, but such a thought was due to your overactive mind) he wouldn’t have been able to. 

This was the lie that the two of you would share, the secret that could not be uttered carelessly from big mouths. 

You hunched over then, bringing your lips to the head of his length, purposefully letting a particularly harsh breath chill his arousal, before letting your tongue gingerly collect it. It was bitter, a salty aftertaste that caused you to pause momentarily - you had always been a sucker for sweeter things, but this was an exception you were willing to make. A taste, or lack thereof, that you wouldn’t mind letting drench your tongue and spill down your throat. So you did it again.

This time, you completely pressed the pad of your tongue over the tip, a soft sound escaping you as you flexed your fingers atop his hip, keeping you steady from the rather awkward position.

“I wonder how it feels,” you whispered then, your voice barely managing to overcome the ambience of the room. His shaky breath was audible to you, urged you to continue - you almost didn’t want to continue to experiment in hopes to hear his little coos and groans that he tried desperately to cover up. It was endearing.

You peeked up then through your eyelashes, forcefully battling against his own hand as you paused in your strokes against him.

“... To know that I’m in control?”

Silence met your question. From its place across the room, the fire gave a loud pop and the logs shifted. The lighting fluttered, casting shadows about the room regardless of how dim it already was. 

At your words, an odd tick appeared in Alastor's temple; his hand stilled beneath yours. Normally he would have reminded you exactly who was in charge; however, he felt winded and he could feel the light sheen of sweat that had broken out across his brow. 

As unique and new as the feelings were, Alastor couldn't pretend that he wasn't caught up in the performance you were giving. He was well aware of the rather unbecoming sounds he had been making, the sight of your mouth connected to the most intimate part of him had filled him with a heady urge to thrust sharply up between your slightly parted lips, to sink into the wet heat there-

It was the knowledge of your combined inexperience that held him back. There was no denying he wanted to see this to the end and scaring you off by showing his true nature did not seem prudent...

In the dying light of the fire, the shadow of something animalistic passed over his handsome face, gone in the blink of an eye as the corners of his mouth twitched upwards. With the practiced grace of the charismatic gent he was, he schooled his features into a more neutral look. 

His hand moved from beneath yours to settle instead on the swell of your breast. He rolled a nipple between his fingertips before giving it an abrupt pinch, just hard enough for you to give a breathy moan back in response. It was an act of encouragement and warning all at once. 

He chuckled, a deep timbre that bubbled up from his thin chest. The curl of his top lip took on an almost cruel edge and a spark of mischief lit up his eyes. 

"I'm at your mercy, darling." 

Was this how it felt to be in control? To have the power in your hands and manifest it into something that dominated your mind with wicked thoughts and even more blasphemous ideas. Inexperience, however, had led you to the brink of what you knew to work, and during this moment of uncertainty, you found yourself simply creating actions from gut instinct and your impure, sullied imagination.

Your fingertips twitched in tandem of your heartbeat, which now raged against what had once been a calm demeanor. To turn into a sinner after leading a life of purity was scandalous just as much as it was _godless._

“My mercy,” you repeated, your eyes blinking up to his dusted face, deep maroon from the simultaneous overstimulation of his racing mind and the actions of none other than yourself. It had been the first time you had been able to explore this side of you, dance on the fine edge of depravity that would have terrified the common housewife. 

Your lip twitched as an impish smile formed upon them, your hands moving then to force his hand off of himself, instead hooking your fingers into the spaces of each of his own. You leaned your face down to ghost your lips over his, eyes lidded in unveiled mischievousness - enough to perhaps even match his own. 

“Is that right?” You brushed your lips against his as you moved back down, your mouth connected with his jaw as you peppered kisses down his neck, his chest, stomach, and finally landing just above his length once more. With sinful deliciousness, you thrummed your fingertips against his knuckles before you pressed his hands into the couch forcefully - oh no, he would not be able to touch you now. 

It was almost too good. 

Your eyes focused on his cock once more, before you parted your lips and engulfed his tip, your tongue - rough in texture from the bumps of taste buds, offering just that much more friction to hopefully drive him up the damn wall. 

You hummed curiously, and experimentally hollowed your cheeks.

The feeling of finally sinking into the wet heat of your mouth coupled with the all too sinful image of your sunken cheeks and stretched lips wrapped around his cock made Alastor's breath hitch sharply. He swallowed against the sudden dryness that hit the back of his soft palate, Adam's apple bobbing enticingly. 

Your hands pinning his down were almost comical in nature, given the size comparison, and yet he surprised even himself by _allowing_ it, your dainty fingers still laced between his own - but predatory instincts were often unreliable. Patience was limited, after-all.

It was almost too much for you to see how you affected him; how you could seem the thin, lean musculature of his chest rising and falling with less than appealing stutters of breath. A man that had once been graceful, a person of class and egotistical nature was now at your mercy, sweating, panting, breath ragged and short, and by _god_ if that wasn’t enough to get you high off of power, you weren’t sure what was. It was addicting.

Each part of him, every single point of his personality from his infuriating charm to his comical approach on life itself, always there to offer an out for your rather drab existence, every single moment he accompanied you, comforted you in his own decrepit way, torn from moral dilemma and inexperience, made you _addicted_ to him. 

You had fallen down that rabbit hole long ago, and you weren’t sure if you wanted to return from this wonderland of a world he had created for you - despite your original distaste for his company; which was ludicrous at this point. It was all a show that you put on, no doubt; a dead giveaway with just how intimate the two of you were being, but you supposed it worked - he kept coming back. 

You lowered your head further onto him, engulfing him to the halfway point where you were forced to breathe through your nose.

It was difficult to hold off on your body’s natural reaction to gag to remove the sudden intrusion, but you found that when you relaxed, it was a bit easier to maintain. He was throbbing, heat pooling into your mouth that radiated off of him in waves, saliva rivulets rolling down the sides of his length as you listened to his little noises that made your belly clench with desire. 

Your motions were slow, calculated, your tongue working on places that you experimented with for him to get more vocal, which was amusing to you considering the fact that you knew him well enough to know that such embarrassing sounds of vulnerability being released were probably not on his bucket list. He held a neutral expression, but you did notice through the dim lighting that his eyebrow twitched along with his lip, his jaw clenched. 

And the moment you met his gaze, you stopped, your hands once again attempting to reinforce his to stay still as you slid him out of your mouth. The entire time, you watched his expression, a pang of sudden pleasure at the distress and confusion of the loss of your actions. You shifted slightly to appease yourself before opening your mouth to speak: 

“You know, it might just be the lighting...” You tilted your head with feigned innocence. “But you almost look frustrated.”

Before you, the man huffed, back molars grinding together in his efforts to restrain himself. You made quite the sight; lips full and swollen from your actions and a thin string of saliva connecting you still to his now weeping slit. When you spoke, the connection broke and some small part of him anguished that loss. 

The fluttering of muscles in his lower belly hinted that his completion was near, a deep ache settling in between his legs; his pulse was thrumming steadily in the vein that ran along the length of him and he twitched several times as the cool air of the room soon overtook the loss of the heat that your mouth brought with it. 

His brown eyes narrowed and his head tilted slightly to the side, as though some great beast had acquired it's next target. 

He pushed lightly back against the resistance your hands holding his still maintained; when no real break was given, he huffed dramatically once again and, ever the card, Alastor stuck his bottom lip out and pouted. Coupled with his mussed hair, now relaxed into it's natural waves despite the fact that some gore still remained, and his flushed skin- it was quite a sight and he was well aware of the effect. 

"Dearest," Alastor's tone was ragged, betraying his undone state (even without the obvious physical signs). It made some sense of shame coil in his gut briefly before the searing need that pooled in his core overrode it. "You're playing a dangerous game…" -

“I have no idea what you’re referring to,” you quipped back quickly, batting your eyelashes. 

Your fingers squeezed the spaces of his hands, and if you could have, you would have even gone so far as to inspect your nails - for now though, with how you were physically incapable of doing such a thing, you settled on expressing it through body language. 

The power was _quickly_ going to your head, and you were less than thrilled at the thought of losing it. It wasn’t often (more akin to never, actually) that you were able to offer satisfaction to that hidden, indistinct heinous silhouette that took control in moments like these. 

You settled your sights on his length again, and while you maintained a tousled, stimulated expression that absolutely betrayed how _whipped_ you were for the man, you internally were particularly fond of the development. Pressing your lips to his tip again, you slowly engulfed him once more, taking a comical and ridiculous amount of pride in the fact that you had been and would continue to be the only one to touch him like this. 

He was yours.

Your neck and jaw would no doubt kill you in the morning, but in that moment, that was the least of your worries. Your mind naturally began to wonder how you could leave your own little reminder for him to admire, and when it turned into a macabre outcome, you shook it off. No, at least not this time. You weren’t entirely comfortable with hurting him and because of that, your curiosity was often dead-ended and left scenarios to be created and destroyed in a matter of seconds. 

With a bit more confidence this time around, little by little you became more tuned into his body and how it responded to certain movements you made. Particularly when you swiped your tongue just beneath the head - how the chills ran up his heated flesh and caused your own body to respond in a similar manner, coos and hums being released in encouragement for his own. 

How beautiful he was; honestly, it was almost unfair!

It was only when you realized that, in regards to the increased amount of precum that escaped him and coated your throat, he was close to his own release. For the briefest of seconds you thought about letting him reach it, to see him convulse underneath your mannerisms and shallow movements, before you steadily narrowed your attention on his body language. 

His neck lacked the ability to keep his head up, bearing his jugular to you and how the muscles there corded up. There was also the observation of his lower abdominal muscles now twitching with growing intensity; cock throbbing in your mouth. But just as he was about to reach that sweet release, you stopped one last time, silently peeling your lips off of him before leaning back again. 

Your name tumbled from his lips, sounding both like praise and some dark curse. His eyes, once closed so tightly against the onslaught of feelings you were gifting him, flew open at the loss of contact. His pupils constricted and whether it was the rapidly diminishing light from the fire or something else all together, they seemed to reflect a flash of crimson before he was able to collect himself enough to focus on your smug expression.

You couldn’t stop the single note of laughter bubbling up in your chest if you tried, though perhaps instead of the euphoric sense of elation you had felt before, it was from the sudden onslaught of nerves. _Oh, if looks could kill._

Alastor's jaw clenched tightly, almost painfully grinding down on the enamel of his teeth. Your ministrations had left his muscles coiled, stiff with anticipation, and now that he was once again left just trembling at the edge of completion, his body felt as though it had been lit aflame, licks of pleasure dancing up his spine, only to seem to settle in the recess of his mind and reduce him to a pile of mush beneath the slight weight of your body. 

You were quite the dish (in more ways than one) and any sense of nervousness or shame had long since evaporated under the sinful attention from your mouth.

He repeated your name, as though to ground himself in reality, and in spite of the fact that he prided himself on being the terror that stalked the alleyways of New Orleans, that damnable pout returned to his face. 

"Despite how it may seem, I am a mere man of flesh and blood, little one." He huffed. 

He was used to getting his way, as childish as that seemed, and while allowing you to exercise this experiment in control, he was quickly losing his resolve to allow it. Some deep, carnal based yearning churned in his gut.

On their own, your hips gingerly began to rock into him - despite your rather awkward position.

You weren’t in a position to alleviate his frustration, but you knew at the very least that by rubbing yourself against him, you could give yourself some of the pleasure that you so desperately craved. It lasted no more than a moment, however, a mere second in the expanse of the time that had passed since the very start as you observed his expression twist and change, how the muscles in his body twitched, stiffened, and relaxed. 

Though you would have been lying if you said that his pout didn’t bring you back some awareness of how cruel you were actually being by playing with him like this - a man with no experience (not that you were any better), touch starved from his own preferences and here you were, for the first time, where he was giving you full control no less over whatever you wanted to do, refusing to give him what he craved. 

Pausing in your motions, you unraveled his hands and gently pushed yourself up to straddle his lower abdomen, just above his still weeping length. 

Perhaps you weren’t as innocent as you thought yourself to be, because when your index finger tilted his chin up, your lips connecting with his chin before peppering up to just hover above his lips, you were filled with just enough of that power high to utter out: 

“If you think I’m sorry,” you slotted your lips against his then fully, taking time to only break the connection when you added on to your responses.

Your eyes fluttered closed for a second, your vision obscured by the close proximity. “You are sorely mistaken, sir.” Your belly clenched as you leaned down to his ear, pressing your cheek against his. “Can I tell you a secret?” A soft whisper that could have easily tickled his thinner hairs. “A secret only for us-”

One large hand abruptly came to rest against the column of your throat; caught up in your teasing, you had foolishly let go of Alastor's hands. And your quick tongue had finally caught up to you- 

His thumb stroked gently against the side of your neck, instinctively mapping the course of your jugular. Using his height against you, he adjusted you to better fit against his hips, his upper half coming to rest against the armrest once more.

It took nothing more than a simple bit of pressure from his palm to guide you to move your body up so you came face to face. He was still flushed, tousled hair sticking to his dewy forehead, but his breathing was slowly returning to normal. 

Emboldened by the return of some confidence, Alastor wasted no time in burying his nose in the crook of your neck, able to pick up on the delicate hint of your perfume and the flowery scent of your shampoo as he trailed his nose up to bury in the soft spot just below your ear. He hummed in appreciation and pressed a clumsy, open mouth kiss to the skin there. 

After a moment he pulled back, leaning against the couch as though some arrogant king. His hand tightened against your throat, squeezing with just enough pressure to ensure he had your full attention.

"I'll tell you mine, if you tell me yours." 

Your head had been tilted up simply to accommodate the sudden presence of his hand encircled around your neck.

The heat of it all, the depravity of it, the position you had found yourself in all but made you release a soft moan; barely audible against the ambience of the room, more similar to that of a blissed-out exhale than anything else. You didn’t feel the need to put your fingers to try to get his hand off of your neck, the pressure simply a less than gentle reminder that your time had run up. 

Your mouth suddenly felt dry, anticipation winding up your nerves like some old jack-in-box or coiled spring that was ready to snap at any moment. Your secret was not much of a secret than a poor excuse to whisper obscenities in his ear, but now that you actually had to look him in the face, you felt your bravado slip out of the back door and into the night. 

“You taste good.”

Alastor blinked owlishly, lips quirking upwards. 

"Darling," His voice was still raspy, tongue heavy under the residual shocks of pleasure still thrumming along his nerves. "I'm flattered. Why, I'm even something of a connoisseur of fine taste myself!" 

His lips met with the skin of your sternum, and he peppered small closed-mouth kisses up to your clavicle. He gave you an abrupt nip to your collarbone, and soothed the mark with a swipe of his tongue. 

"However," He murmured into your soft skin, pausing to nuzzle into you in a rare moment of odd affection. Within this beat, he brought his long legs up and, bracing you in his arms suddenly, flipped you embarrassingly easily onto your back; he came to settle between your thighs, noting the sticky feel of your drying arousal against his own skin. 

"Unfortunately for you, I'm also an impatient man." 

With his usual air of speed, Alastor moved so he could cradle you by the hips, warm calloused hands come to rest just under the swell of your bum. From here he was able to easily adjust your body, your form laid out and hips slanted upwards to meet his own. A hand returned to its place at your throat, pressure light but meaning clear. 

Seemingly happy with the affect, Alastor used his height to loom down, ghosting his lips against your mouth once more. He gave your bottom lip a quick nip, before muttering hotly into your parted mouth, 

"Now be a good girl for me and try not to wake anyone-" 

Without any more warning, Alastor fit his narrow hips against yours, instinctively angling his body so his length met with the slick dripping from your core. He pressed up and into you, and then with one sharp snap of his hips, buried himself to the hilt in your glorious heat. 

There was a far off sound, something vaguely familiar from a long lost dream, or perhaps even a moment in your past that you had since forgotten. It was as if the world had slowed down around you, each lap of the flame from the fireplace able to be defined by curvatures of oranges and yellows, that incessant ticking of that clock just off to the side, ever present and counting the seconds that passed.

_Tick._

_Tick._

_Tick._

It felt so long, so dreadfully long in that moment before all at once he broke through the barrier your body had to protect itself, the sudden intrusion damn near making your heart fail.

That sound - what was it? 

It was only when you were harshly yanked back into reality, ripping through that fragmented euphoria that you had been in, now greeted by an overwhelming amount of pain did you realize that the origin of the sound had been you. It was _you._ You were screaming. Instinctively to alleviate the pain to the best of your ability, your hips twisted upwards in hopes to get him _out_ , but it only managed to help him sink deeper.

“Stop, stop- Al, stop, please-“ your voice was suddenly raw from the amount of energy that had been put in from the scream. You hadn’t even realized tears had begun to threaten to spill down your face, totally and utterly set on being rid of the mind-numbing, almost unbearable pain and stretch. “Please...”

Above you, Alastor shuddered, slightly hunched over your prone form. After your near endless teasing, it was euphoric to finally be so intimately connected. Vaguely, he was aware of your sniffles, your scream having filled his ears deliciously in such a way that left little room in his mind for anything else. 

_What a pretty scream._

His hand flexed in place against your neck, but was quickly replaced with his lips. He suckled greedily on your pulse point, blunt teeth catching here and there. Your breath hitched in time with your barely concealed sobs, muscles in your neck tense. 

Alastor pulled his mouth away from your skin, a small wet pop sounding in the air. 

"Well done," he crooned down at you. "You did so well for me, darling." His nose came to trace the length of yours and he pressed a small kiss to its tip. 

"Focus on my voice," his lips moved to whisper against yours. "Breathe deeply for me, good girl, that's it." More kisses were peppered to your chin, cheeks and even your eyelids.

It should have been so easy to just relax against him, to be charmed by his voice alone, but amidst it all (the kisses, the soft words of praise that inevitably made your heart stutter in your chest) you were in _pain._

 _  
_ The original shock that had run its course through your body had eased up as you took in a deep inhale, your lips dragging against his own as it pertained to a gasp. You were a fish out of water - you could not get enough air into your lungs to accommodate what was happening.

_Focus on my voice._

His voice. His voice. His voice. If you focused on his voice would it make the pain go away? If you focused on his voice would it cause the blood that was staining his length and your thighs, brought on by a sudden force of intrusion, go away? You wanted this, still wanted him, you had started this, consented to it, you had put the idea into his mind but it still didn’t erase the fact that he hadn’t waited. He hadn’t eased into you, caressed your insides with a gentle rock of his hips.

But that wasn’t _Alastor_.

It wasn’t the radio host from Louisiana that rose up into fame, it wasn’t the man that you had met on the stroll and wittily charmed you into sticking around for a conversation, it wasn’t the person who you allowed to kiss the back of your hand on that first outing during Mardi Gras, teach you to dance, give you that sweet smile and told you to try again. He was charming, but he was anything but gentle in true nature. No, the man in your thoughts only existed through imagination. 

The man that your mother would have wished for you to marry simply did not exist in Alastor, and yet you had fallen for him all the same. 

“It hurts…” you managed to hiccup out, eyelashes stained with tears, your vision blurry as you tried to focus onto him. Focus on his face. His voice. _Him._

Anything but the pain. 

"I know, sweetheart, I know…" Alastor's voice was honeyed. He pulled back just enough to meet your teary gaze, an impish curve to his lips in spite of the moment. "May I help?" He gave a vague gesture downwards to the rest of your form. "Do you trust me?" 

Trust.

It was the single word that had led to this moment, the one emotion that stumped you on a daily basis when it came to many different things. For example: Did you trust someone not to hit you with their brand new Ford Model T? No, not really. It really drove home the fact that you shouldn’t have trusted anyone or anything other than yourself, because as much as you (soberly) wanted to admit that you knew everyone’s intentions, you couldn’t.

But you weren’t sober. 

You were in an euphoric but pained state of discomfort and the gentle throbs of pleasure that were too weak to be picked up on. But Alastor. Oh, Alastor was the one individual that put you in a tizzy, threw you into a whirlwind of emotion and knowledge that you thought you understood and completely ripped it from underneath you, reforming your world to better suit his own. 

You blearily followed his motion with your eyes, your brain complete mush under the stress of the moment - and in simplest terms, you felt as if you had short-circuited. _Trust, trust, trust._

Did you trust Alastor?

Stupidly, naively, irresponsibly, intoxicated on his affection and love,

“... Yes.”

Having watched your mental anguish with a mild detached curiosity, Alastor was still pleasantly surprised when you confirmed what he knew to be true all along; how desperately and irrevocably you belonged to _him_. 

He hummed thoughtfully, Alastor took this time to quickly rake his eyes over your supple, prone body. Admittedly, human biology and the workings of the body were something of an interest to him (although the true reason for his knowledge would have shocked you beyond measure) but he had never been presented with an opportunity to bring _pleasure_ to another. 

Pain. Hurt. Desperation. Those were his usual markers. However, he still knew the areas most likely to be sensitive, most likely to draw some positive reaction from you. 

His warm mouth came to hover just over the delicate skin of your breast, the nipple pebbling as his breath washed over it. His eyes flickered to your face once again and, seeing no true hesitation there, he darted out his tongue in order to flick it against the tip.

The reaction you gave was almost instantaneous, a sharp inhale as your hiccups faded away simply into heavy breaths. Your eyebrows furrowed upwards, pinching up as a gentle sigh escaped your lips, albeit shakily. Your original panic had settled at last, and while you were still very much in discomfort, the attention taken away from solely focusing on it helped in the adjustment. 

Once the pain had diluted from a sharp stabbing sensation to something less intense, you experimentally fluttered your walls around his cock, attempting to ease the discomfort even more. Your attention moved to his hand then, and you took in a shaky breath before exhaling a soft question of:

“C-can I show you?” Your mind was fighting with itself as you tried to think of how to get it across what you wanted. “... How to touch me?” You weren’t even sure if he had heard you from how softly you were talking.

To his credit, Alastor was able to keep his smirk lingering on his lips in spite of the initial wave of relief that washed over him at your words. He was a man who prided himself on being _the best_ and his gap in knowledge was an inevitable sore spot. 

With a quick, only somewhat shaky breath, you reached out and tentatively grabbed hold of his hand. When he didn't flinch or fight you off, you gently guided him down to where your hips met and with a burst of nerves, showed him how to run his finger along your folds until you managed to hit upon the small bundle of nerves hidden there. 

For the briefest of moments, you completely forgot the lingering pain as he pressed there, your back arching slightly at the overly sensitive bud was at last given attention. “Ah… yes, like that please…” you closed your eyes, your bottom lip finding its way under your teeth.

In the sudden jerk in your body from the pang of pleasure that ran up your spine, you were reminded of your connection - and you shallowly rolled your hips a single time to test it.

Fueled with a sudden desire, a deep rooted affection, a sense of _longing_ as you opened your eyes slightly to look up at him, a deep blush coating the entirety of your face and neck, you broke the sudden silence that fell over the two of you.

“Be _gentle,”_ you insisted. “But… If-if you want, you can move.”

But with Alastor, was gentle even in his vocabulary?

Keeping a fingertip circling on your oversensitive bud, Alastor gave a small roll of his hips, barely withdrawing from your core before rocking forwards again. When he was awarded by the soft sound of your moan, he pulled back enough to bring his tip back to rest just inside your heat. 

Alastor paused here, and instead returned his focus to your clit. He drew some of your slick along with the pad of his thumb, before pressing down more firmly and rolling it between thumb and pointer. He quickly pressed his mouth to yours once more, greedily accepting the groan that broke free from you. 

Alastor's lips left yours to move to suckle the pulse point of your neck; with a particularly pronounced nibble, he simultaneously rocked forward, his swollen length parting your inner walls easier than before. He pressed into you until he naturally met resistance, and withdrew.

It didn't take him long to set a steadier pace, although the man drew back slightly in order to watch your facial expressions. 

Said expressions were paired with a sheen of sweat, your baby hairs kissing your forehead and temples and your face twisted up with each time he entered you; albeit, with each time he did, the less intense your expressions became, your body slowly relaxing into the act as pleasure began to spark up your body, clawing at your belly and easing his passage each time. 

Hormonally, and emotionally, you were absolutely _done for._ You were exhausted from fighting with yourself over something so simple yet so ridiculously complicated, and when you opened your eyes, glassy in their own, you met his own, your breath shallow.

His eyes seemed to burn in the dimness of the room. There was a set edge to his jaw, squared and achingly masculine as he continued to focus on the reactions you were giving him. The steely glint in his eyes hinted at the slumbering predator beneath his skin. The pressure was beginning to build deep in his belly and he was determined to bring you to your peak before allowing himself to follow you into that pleasurable abyss. 

“Al…” you cooed, swallowing thickly as you hesitated but ultimately brought your hand up to his heated, darkened by lust, cheek. Your heart thrummed in your chest, that coil being pulled with each thrust into you, and your body, past the moment of pain and now simply basking in the euphoric sensations. 

“You feel so good,” you praised, a shuddering sigh befalling your lips after a second as a wave of goosebump ran over your body when he hit _that_ spot. 

But when your expression changed, it was quite obvious that there was something that you _weren’t_ saying.

Alastor abruptly paused, shifting so as to better make eye contact. 

"Speak up now, darling." He cooed, one eyebrow raised expectantly. 

“I love you.”

There was a beat. Alastor blinked once, twice, his mouth opening and then closing. For the first time, you had a front row seat to his panic. Perhaps realizing this for himself, the man rather foolishly pressed his face to the nearest source of cover; namely your chest. 

But you couldn’t take it in this moment, not when you were like this with him, not when you had just given him your virginity; you couldn’t take the impending refusal, the turning down, not like this. Not now. You should have waited. Now that _you_ were panicking, you immediately tried to come up with something that could have worked if he had been, you know, an average man.

They often lacked a functioning brain. 

“...uuu inside of me. Ha… ha.” You turned your face away, facing the couch with an aggrieved, pained expression at your own stupidity. You were just digging yourself a bigger grave at this point. 

Alastor lifted his head just enough to be able to peer up at you from his resting place on your chest. He was fluent in deceit and he knew a lie when he heard one. 

That didn't mean you knew the difference. 

With a touch of his usual theatrical airs, Alastor shifted until he was nose to nose with you again. His eyes darted to your lips before returning to hold your gaze, noting the unwavering hint of naive optimism in your eyes. 

A good plot twist always made for good entertainment after all. 

"And I love you, little darling." 

And then it came crashing down on you, despite the flutter in your heart from his words alone. You were unsure, in all honesty. You knew his preferences, and yet he was having _intercourse_ with you. It was all very confusing, to be fair. Your lip twitched slightly before you closed your eyes so that he _wouldn’t_ be able to meet them.

_No he didn’t. He couldn’t._

And you being a highly expressive person, it naturally formed on your face that you were not the fool he thought you to be.

_You knew him. He had told you._

But that small inkling of hope was enough, paired with his consistent ministrations and thrusts, to send you over the edge. Your head tilted back against the arm rest, baring your neck to him in the process as your body clamped down on him, an intense wave of pleasure washing over you as you let out a moan: his name. Your hands, which had at one point navigated to his shoulders, dug into his flesh to the point of rivulets of blood beginning to form underneath your nails. 

The sound of his name tumbling from your lips, coupled with the slick heat of your core and the divinely sharp sting of your nails clawing into his skin was more than enough to send Alastor pitching over the edge of completion. His head buzzed with a rush of endorphins -the feeling similar to how he felt after taking a life- and he finally allowed himself to give into the urge he had been fighting the entire time. 

His blunt teeth scraped the flushed, sensitive skin of your neck and as he peaked, he sunk them deeply into the tender flesh. Your blood burst, sweet and coppery, onto his tongue and he hummed his appreciation.

But amidst the pleasure that caused your body to practically convulse beneath him, you barely noticed the pain. It was dull, still present, and undoubtedly something that would have you wearing scarves for the next couple of weeks, but as you came down from that delicious high and you were left a panting, sweating mess,

Your wits began to come back to you, and with it, the fact that you...  
  


Oh no.

Oh _no_ you didn’t say that. 

“I didn’t mean-“ you immediately began to attempt to save your sorry (helplessly adoring) hide but when Alastor pulled away from your abused throat with a sinfully dark chuckle, the words died in your throat. 

He grinned down at you, teeth stained red and a wild look in his eyes. He pressed a finger to your lips to shush you, and when you made no move to argue, his grin became just as wild and wide as his eyes. 

"That's my girl," He crooned to you, the finger on your lips moving to tug a strand of your hair in a show of school-boy level affection. 

But just as that happened, the adrenaline began to fade away as your attention fell to his teeth, that dull pain in your neck growing as your realization did. Instinctively, you moved your hand to the spot, and what could have been assumed as saliva from messy affection, was quickly debunked when you brought your hand in front of you to inspect it. Red.

Your face twisted up.

“Did you fucking _bite_ me?” You whispered in disbelief.

He blinked and pursed his lips, the ends tipped upwards with humor. 

"Maybe." He gave you a soft smile now, eyes crinkled with mirth. He touched the tip of his nose to yours.   
  


"Now... let's get you cleaned up, darling." 


	3. Who’s On First Base? Who. THAT’S WHAT I’M ASKIN’

“But I don’t  _ want  _ to wear shoes!”

It had been three weeks since your rendezvous with Alastor, and within that time your schedule became cluttered and manic with the return of your father. It was difficult to tend to things alone, especially with the loss of your mother in the past year from influenza; the world, once lit with a fantastical vibrancy and innocent curiosity for an existence that had yet to be truly explored and mapped out, had shifted into a monochrome and drab atmosphere. You had been forced to grow up quickly, taking on your elder sisterly duties to tend to your youngest when the nanny and tutor could not. 

That said, it wasn't always the easiest. 

“Ruth,  _ please. _ ” You begged, watching as the child, clad in a navy high-waisted, long-sleeved sailor outfit, kicked her legs out in protest, the balls of her feet hitting the cabinets that she sat above. In your right hand were a pair of oxfords, polished and ready to be worn. Now, you did not come from an overly wealthy family or anything, but you were at least able to get by with a few extra dollars to spend on items that were simply materialistic. 

But  _ some people  _ (namely your sister) didn’t seem to appreciate the hard work that your father did to give the two of you that life. You had to hand it to the nanny - Ruth was, without a doubt, an aggriever. With a heavy sigh, you rested the shoes atop the counter for a moment, bringing your index finger and thumb to rub at your temples. “Don’t be difficult. I’m trying to help you!”

Ruth crinkled her nose as if the thought disgusted her. 

“Why do I have to wear shoes? It’s easier not to!” She huffed, crossing her arms. “Alastor wouldn’t make me wear shoes.”

“I’m sure he would.”

“Would not!”

“Would too.”

“Nu-uh!”

“Uh-huh.”

In truth, Alastor was not someone that Ruth should have looked up to, primarily because if she didn’t, you would have already been out the door and not arguing with a seven year old about the necessities of wearing shoes outside. Naturally, the girl had latched onto the man when she had learned who he was, quickly developing a childish crush on someone that was nearly triple her age simply because he was popular.

She had never listened to his radio show before she had met him, and now it was a near daily occurrence. 

Often, you would find her in her room doodling on a piece of plain paper, laying on her stomach and humming a song as the portable radio stood before her. Even when he wasn’t physically around, you could never quite escape him. 

Especially within the past two weeks where you had woken up to those deep bruises in your skin that you had to lie to your father about accidentally playing too rough with Ruth - to which he simply adjusted his glasses and hummed in disapproval over how he sometimes believed he had sons instead of daughters.

The bite mark was harder to cover up, and so you were forced to wear your hair down or even put a bandage over it - fibbing once again with something along the lines of accidentally cutting yourself. The amount of times that you had been stopped on the street from overwhelmingly nosey gentlemen were more than two hands could count - they always seemed to be at the ready to defend a woman’s silent, but desperate cry for help. 

The gossip was worse.

Eventually it got to the point where you had stopped going out altogether, fueled by the sudden resentment of Alastor being able to get out scot-free with no markings (save for the scratches atop his shoulders). No one ever questioned the man - the common woman viewed as weak and defenseless, the men the white knights to whisk away Rapunzel from her castle and live happily ever after. But you were a different breed.

It made the Flappers that much more tantalizing.

But today, the bruises, the swelling that had formed around the bite itself had healed enough for you to feed the desire to just  _ risk  _ it. Paired with the fact that it was a cloudless evening and Ruth had been absolutely pestering you to take you to see Alastor (her reasoning because she wanted to become a radio host herself - how funny was that), you thought what better time than the present to meet him as he left the station and to ask him to dinner.

Which, coming from a woman in your era, was absolutely unheard of.

The thought of seeing him again made your belly clench with a sudden onslaught of nerves, and it made you that much more antsy to get the shoes onto your sibling. 

“Do you want to see Al or not, Ruth? Because I can take you off of the counter right now and  _ I’ll  _ tell him  _ myself  _ that you couldn’t come because you didn’t want to put on your shoes.”

Ruth looked down at the shoes that had once against returned to be seated in your grip as if she were sincerely weighing her decisions; as if this was a  _ really  _ difficult decision to make and not just her being burdensome.

“Do you know how sad he’ll be to find out that he wouldn’t be able to see his biggest fan again? Goodness, I can only imagine!” You reached to push a stray piece of hair behind her ear.

“Sad?” She looked up at your distraught face (but your soul was so, so smug) with wide eyes that possessed an innocence that was simply lost with age. How tragic.

“But that’s okay - maybe you aren’t his biggest fan!” You turned away then with a shrug of your shoulders. 

“Maybe  _ I  _ am.” 

“ **_NO_ ** _! I’m his biggest fan!” _

A slam caught your attention, the silverware in the cabinets clattering for a millisecond as Ruth jumped down and immediately encircled her arms around your waist - one hand desperately reaching for the shoes that  _ you  _ now kept just out of her reach. Your eyes fell to the grandfather clock, a dramatic gasp escaping you.

“Would you look at the time! He should be getting done any minute now, I really must be going.” 

An annoyed yell came from the child that was now pulling at your dress to claw herself up in an attempt to reach the shoes. “Let me have them! Stop being mean before I go tell daddy!”

Oh no, the daddy card.

“I’m not mean, I’m being cautious of the time, I don’t want to miss-”

“What in God’s good name is going on here to make so much racket?”

Your attention, along with Ruth’s, snapped to the man standing in the entrance of the kitchen. 

“ _ Daddy!”  _

“Oh, no you don’t.”

You quickly grabbed the girl’s collar and held her there before giving her the shoes. Then, you looked to your father who had the expression of someone who just wanted to sleep. You felt that on a personal level. 

“Sorry daddy, Ruth is just being a little-“

He held up his hand to stop you, knowing full well the term that was about to slip from your mouth. “Where are you in a hurry to?” He walked forward and pulled out a chair to the kitchen table, settling his newspaper there. 

“We’re—“

“WE’RE GONNA SEE THE RADIO MAN!”

You looked down to Ruth who now, miraculously had her oxfords on, hands wrapped together, and absolutely exuberant in personality. What a little-

“The radio man?”

Oh, bless your father’s soul. He wasn’t around enough to know the terror’s latest obsession. 

“Alastor.”

“Ah,” he nodded, adjusting his glasses again before turning his attention back to his task at hand. “He’s that rising gentleman that’s everywhere now, no?” He held up the newspaper and pointed to a picture with a raised brow. You leaned in slightly, squinting at it before you leaned back.

“Yes, daddy, that’s him.” You responded politely, and thankfully, Ruth had quieted.

“I’m gonna marry him!”

You spoke too soon.

Your father looked down to Ruth then, his eyes, bagged by exhaustion, forming crows feet from amusement. 

“I believe you’re a bit too young for that, babydoll.” He laughed that gruff laugh of his that made you feel safe. You loved your dad, and you wished you had more of his time. He was a good man, and he didn’t deserve the loss of your mother. Your heart felt increasingly heavy in that moment, the excitement that you felt prior, temporarily escaping you and being filled with a solemn sensation.

The clock chimed. Six o’clock.

“Right, well,” you brought your hand to grasp Ruth’s own before walking forward and leaning down to press a kiss to your father’s scruffy cheek. “We should really be going. Try to get some sleep, okay?” 

“Anything for my beautiful daughters.” 

It was a soft moment before you parted and, having Ruth follow you, walked out the door. The evening air greeted you, the horizon littered with a clash of golds and pinks before fading into a deep blue; slow moving clouds that threatened to roll in within the night the only obstruction from what could have been considered a sight only Heaven could manifest. The sight was ripped from you as your rowdy sibling pulled you forward.

“Come on! Come on! Come on! Why are you so slow? We’re gonna miss him!”

The cobblestone streets weren't completely empty, despite the time of day blending into the supper hour. In the distance, a trolley rumbled by, the tinny ding of its stop bell sounding. People passed the two of you, no one paying much mind to a harried looking young woman and the determined seven year old dragging you along in her wake.

_ You wouldn’t have been rushing if she hadn’t put up such a fight to begin with. _

Needless to say, it didn’t take you long to reach the building, unfortunately for the passerbyers who you nearly plowed over from the surprising strength that Ruth possessed. But as you did, the speed that you had run gradually turned into a jog, and then a speed-walk, and then finally,  _ finally- _

“Ruth, look, we’re here.”

For the first time, you put up a resistance to being dragged around and, thankfully, that was enough for the girl to skid to a stop.

The station was nondescript from the outside, built after the Great War and therefore not as vibrant as some of the older structures of New Orleans. It was tucked away on the corner of a side street, away from the hustle and bustle of Main Street or the French Quarter, while the radio tower itself had been constructed on a small knoll not far away. 

Your eyes flicked upwards, noting the exact window you knew was attached to the small office Alastor shared with some of the other on air personalities and staff. Your heart gave a nervous flutter at the sight of it, and Ruth's hand tightened in yours, her determination and excitement evident. 

"Hurry up!" Her voice was slowly taking on the whiney quality you knew meant she was determined to get her way. "If we miss him..."

Just as her small hand reached out to grab the handle of the door of the entrance, it swung forward sharply, causing Ruth to stumble back into you. 

You quickly braced her and turned your eyes back to the doorway, intent to give whomever it was a piece of your mind (she was your little sister after all and you were fiercely protective). Instead, you found yourself looking at a familiar pair of brown eyes behind rounded glasses, your mouth flopping open rather unladylike as your retort died on your lips. 

"HELLO RADIO MAN!!" Ruth's voice hit an impressive octave in spite of her tiny stature. 

Alastor blinked before his smile grew, spreading like an oil slick on water (quickly covering his momentary surprise), and he pushed his glasses up his nose with a small nudge from his knuckle. 

He was dressed simply in a pair of dark, pressed slacks and a clean cut blazer over his white button up, paired with well polished cap-toe shoes. His dark hair was styled back, natural waves held by the pomade he favoured, and a fedora sat on his head at a jaunty angle, only adding to his overall dapper look. 

"Well now!" He cried, arms brandishing about with his usual extravagance. "If it isn't the two prettiest dolls in all of New Orleans!"

As much as you longed to merely scoff, to act as if you were unaffected by his charming and gentlemanly appearance, your ability to maintain that uncaring flare was quickly becoming something that was hard for you to keep up.   


It came easily to you when you were particularly annoyed about something, or perhaps even frustrated, but in the regular bustle of day-to-day lifestyle? It was rather exhausting, to say the least; especially with how Ruth’s excitement was contagious to the point that it made a small laugh escape your lips. 

Your stomach fluttered with a wave of nerves, your fingertips laying atop of Ruth’s shoulders to forbid her from jumping the poor man. “You hear that, Ruth? I told you he would have been upset if he couldn’t see you!” You shot Alastor a  _ look _ out of the corner of your eye as you leaned down to continue to build up your sister’s excitement; your expression told it all: you would explain it to him later. 

“Don’t you have something to give him?” You questioned with an air of humor, your eyes falling down to the card that was between the girl’s fingers, now crumpled by the sudden onslaught of shyness from meeting the one and only.

It always reminded you in moments like these that Ruth was still very much plagued by youthful innocence - unburdened by life’s stress. It had been particularly hard for her to lose your mother, and so you tried your best to distract her from the grief when you had time. There was no need for a child that young to be caught up in the unforgiving reality of New Orleans.

The card, which had been ripped and curled at the edges from nervous ticks was then shyly offered to Alastor, and with that, you comforted your sister by standing just behind her. The card itself was a doodle of two stick figures holding hands, one with a dress to symbolize a female, and the other in pants, a shirt, and a bow tie; hastily colored in with the incorrect shades of pinks, blues, reds, greens, and yellows. 

There were hearts that decorated the page and above it, the scribbles of barely legible words that stated:

‘Deer Mister Alastor, 

Dinner?

Synserely, Ruth’  
  


Alastor trailed his eyes down the card he had been handed. His smile turned into a soft, closed lipped one and he pressed a hand to the lapel of his coat; it was an almost convincing show of endearment, save for the crinkle of his eyes and the hint of sardonic mirth they held. 

"My, my, my," He folded the card closed and tucked it neatly into his pocket. He adjusted his glasses and then bent neatly at the waist so he was better able to see your young sister. "Did you create this masterpiece all by yourself?" 

Ruth slapped a hand to her own mouth as though to hold back her squeals of joy and nodded quickly in succession. Her eyes were wide and practically shining with glee. 

Alastor hummed and although still bent over, his eyes traveled up to catch your gaze briefly before looking back to Ruth.

"How could I possibly turn down dinner with such a fine, up-and-coming artist?" He gave her a wink and then straightened up, his grin wider than before. "As long as your darling sister has no objections?" 

At this his eyes once more traveled to yours; there was some new, unspoken depth to them you hadn't seen before. After all, it had been a few weeks since you had seen each other and given how your last evening together had gone...

He loathed chasing anyone, whether wild animal, human victim or even you. He had figured you would come back once comfortable, but in spite of the experience shared between the pair of you, it was a subject he was (admittedly) still new to. 

Your belly fluttered with an intensity that you had not quite been expecting once his eyes met yours - how lovely those dark depths of his were, how mesmerizing they were when the lighting was just right and gifted you the view of a coloration that could have been considered honey; the sweetest kind that made your sweet tooth even flinch away. 

A terrible, monstrous rumble originated from Ruth’s stomach then, and it was enough to get you out of your reverie. Taking a deep breath, you nodded your approval, forcing a smile onto your lips - it wasn’t that you weren’t happy about it, no, quite the opposite actually. You were practically bouncing on your toes and, if you had been Ruth’s age, you would have mirrored her own actions. 

When Alastor offered you his elbow, you subconsciously wound your arm around his. It was a common occurrence for a gentleman to escort a lady, especially when they were on a stroll, an outing with family, or otherwise. You generally didn’t take notice of the fabrics of clothing or the texture of them when you were escorted, nor did you make note of the way his lean muscles twitched when you draped your arm over his. 

It was a bit difficult to comprehend everything that had happened, but it made your cheeks adopt a gentle hue that betrayed your inner turmoil. 

There was an unknown source of giddiness that formed inside you, coiling you like a snake while the rest of you simply  _ existed.  _ You didn’t inquire about where he was taking you and your sister (who now was swinging your other arm in her hand, humming a little tune), simply because you felt no need to. However, you did assume that he probably wanted some explanation - especially since you hadn’t seen him in the recent weeks.

“My father returned from his trip,” you began lightly. “It’s been… hectic.” You rolled your bottom lip between your teeth for a moment before continuing. “A lot of cleaning had to be done,” you cleared your throat, “after you left.” The blood was easily explainable to your sister - the go-to excuse of spilling juice. You slowly noticed that Ruth had been eavesdropping and you raised your voice slightly: 

“You know, I had to do a lot of  _ chores.” _

Her interest died immediately and her attention was directed elsewhere.

Alastor gave you a look from the corner of his eye, and his smile twitched slightly. 

"Ah yes," He paused a moment and a look of uncertainty crossed his features. "I did mean to seek you out sooner, dearest, but I must admit I was rather ashamed of how I behaved that evening. I wasn't sure how to…" 

Alastor stopped to throw his head back in a rather smug spiel of laughter, "Well, I was quite the boob, sweetheart!" 

Your own soft smile hardened.

“If I didn’t know any better, I would have thought you to be the author of Moby  _ Dick. _ ” You gritted out. If he wanted to be like that, you could dish it right back at him. You weren’t one to cower,  _ especially  _ when it came to his tomfoolery. How desperately you wanted to stomp on his foot and make him holler. How  _ dare  _ he? The audacity this man had astounded you!

If you hadn’t been in public, you would have had a lot more to say - things in particular that would have given your poor dear father a heart attack. 

Alastor laughed again, his grin almost wild. Once he had finally regained his composure, he shot you an all too charming, roguish look.

"You're a real bearcat!" He adjusted the frame of his glasses, mouth still curled in amusement. He unraveled his arm from yours, moving instead to lace his fingers with your own. 

He raised your hand to his mouth then and pressed a quick peck to the inside of your wrist. His eyes darted then to Ruth, still walking at your side and off in her own daydream perhaps, and he cleared his throat and gently released your hand.   


His elbow was of course offered in its stead. Whatever response that you had thought to whip up died in your throat at the small act of affection. For a long second, you simply stared at his elbow as your mind fought to catch up to reality. Slowly, you wrapped your arm through his again, your eyes squinted in suspicion. “You’re very confusing, sir.” First he stated that he basically  _ regretted  _ it, and now he was kissing your wrist like a long-term lover. 

“I’ll give you that…” you trailed off, looking back down the street and offering a smile to those that you knew from simple errands. But you were indeed able to dish out just as much as you received and, playing on his lack of interest in close proximity, you stood on your tippy-toes, leaned into his ear, and gave the lobe a quick nip; hidden from view from his fedora to prying eyes, you very softly whispered: 

“Though, I think I should remind you that you were saying very different things that night. Those little coos and groans are very nice.”

And then you leaned back and kept walking, totally content and dare you say it,  _ proud  _ of yourself for sticking up for your own hide. A smug smile danced upon your lips as you let out a light laugh - “So? Where are we off to?”

You knew exactly how to make his discomfort rise to the max, and by talking as if nothing had ever happened, you no doubt were eager to see the effects of the whiplash that he so often put you through. An expectant eyebrow rose then, a faint blush dusting across your cheeks that betrayed your previous sultry disposition.

Alastor raised both eyebrows at your boldness, although his grin faltered. You were a quick witted thing to be sure, something that kept his interest piqued. The one downside to this was of course your ability to catch him off guard sometimes as you engaged in your rather flirty power struggle. 

Power was something Alastor had come to understand from a young age as the true driving force in the World. The colour of his skin put him at a disadvantage from birth onward, as had growing up the son of widowed woman during the War. Now with his star on the rise, it was something he had developed a taste for; he was always fond of a good cat-and-mouse game, and his influence made seeking out a means to the end of his darker urges that much easier. 

He hummed lightly, giving you a close look before dramatically snapping his fingers, "Say, I know a little place that's just the cat's pajamas!" He nodded to Ruth, "Close enough the little darling should be able to make it on foot." 

Without waiting for your answer, Alastor tightened the crook of his elbow to tuck you in close and pulled you off in a new direction. 

You knew he was well acquainted with the streets of the city, but even then you couldn't help the small twist of nervous excitement that churned in your belly as he led you and Ruth down alleyways and side streets, until eventually he brought you to a quaint alley that housed a few small shops. There, a sign painted in pink announced he had brought you to some cafe. 

Alastor held open the door and ushered you and Ruth through it- the latter he gave a small bow to as she passed, and Ruth really couldn't keep in her squeal of joy then. A small bell tinkled overhead as the door shut behind the three of you, and you took in the sight.

The cafe was small but clean and well lit. The front housed large bay windows and a few rounded tables paired with chairs were scattered around. There was a countertop and stools too, where a few men sat at enjoying newspapers with their meals. The smell of grease, spice, and coffee filled the air and your stomach gave a rumble of appreciation. Next to you, Ruth's also sounded out again.

"Let's get you two seated before you waste away," Alastor clicked his tongue and placed a hand on the small of your back to lead you onward. He picked one of the rounded tables, this one set back by the window. Ever the gentleman, he pulled a chair for Ruth and tucked her in. He then turned to you with an expectant eyebrow and offered you a seat. 

It was social etiquette for the gentleman to do such shows of manners - and while you had been raised to naturally accept it, it was often a bit much in your opinion; especially when the places weren’t tailored for fancy seatings. But those types of thoughts were left unsaid; to fade from your mind as they often did. Pulling up the bottom of your casual dress, you offered Alastor a small smile to commend his behavior. 

“Thank you,” you allowed him to push you in before you leaned back into your chair, grabbing a napkin and draping it over your lap. When Ruth didn’t follow, you cleared your throat and made a motion towards it and, with a muttering under her breath, she grabbed it and placed it (albeit messily) on her own lap. 

Alastor chuckled and swooped surprisingly gracefully down into his own seat across the pair of you. He casually leaned across the table top and gently pinched Ruth's cheek, "Smile, darling! You're never fully dressed without one!" You noted his voice was oddly louder in tone, as though he was purposely trying to have it carry-

Ruth naturally tried to get away from the pinches, despite them being from her idol. “What do you mean? I  _ am  _ dressed!” She looked at you then. “So this means I have to wear shoes  _ and  _ a smile when I’m outside?” At your shrug, she crossed her arms. 

“Well, the shoes, yes. But the smile…” you glanced at Alastor then and, because you were an A+ gremlin, you leaned closer. “Why don’t you tell us what else makes you undressed?”

Oh, thank god for your sister’s confusion.

The elderly couple next to you, however, dropped their forks in shock. You tossed them an apologetic look. 

Alastor chuckled again, this time it was a dark and sinful sounding thing that made the fine hairs on your arm tingle. He moved his lithe body to lean closer to yours now, ever present smirk on his lips.

"Darling, I think that meaning may be better conveyed through demonstration." He sent you a wink which in turn sent small shivers down your spine, your own shit eating grin falling as you narrowed your eyes.  _ He was playing along. _

The game that the two of you were playing had the potential to be dangerous, and for one reason or another, it made a pulse of excitement run up your body in tandem to your heartbeat. 

“Is that so?” You leaned in closer, batting your eyelashes coquettishly to him.

And then Ruth gagged excessively.

Alright, so maybe she knew more than she let on. When you snapped your attention to the girl, a blush coating your cheeks, you were just about to change the subject when a shrill, excited voice sounded from behind you. 

"Well ain't this just berries!" The voice was somehow both breathy and yet high pitched. "If it isn't my favourite radio host come in off the street to finally visit little old me!" 

A short, curvaceous woman, dolled up in a box  dress and a perfectly curled blonde bob, stood in front of your table; she appeared as though summoned, your ears ringing slightly from the auditory assault. Next to you, Ruth jammed both her pointer fingers into her ears and made a sour face. 

Amidst all this, Alastor merely leaned back in his chair, a cheshire grin adorning his face.

"Hello, my dear Mimzy!" His voice rose rather obnoxiously to gleefully meet her tone. "I do apologise for not popping in sooner, I've been rather busy." 

He gave you a sideways glance, lips twitching. 

“WHERE’S THE FOOD, MISS?” Ruth suddenly hollered, totally unaware of her volume - but you didn’t exactly blame her; your own ears felt like they were bleeding too. 

When you met Alastor’s glance, you simply kept a neutral expression. Despite the outwardly friendliness (then again, he was that way with  _ everyone),  _ you hadn’t begun to pick up on the subtleties of his behavior. Honestly, you were wondering the same question, so you didn’t even bother to reprimand Ruth. 

She was dishing out straight facts here, folks.

Mimzy gave a strained chuckle, turning her attention to the pair of you at Ruth's outburst. 

"Is this your new moll, Alastor?" Mimzy's dark eyes held a cruel edge to them as she sized up first you and then Ruth, before turning back to meet your gaze head on. "A single mother? Al, I didn't think you were one to entertain such charity!" 

Alastor waved an airy hand about, drawing Mimzy's attention back to himself. "Nonsense, dear! This is my dearest friend and her sister Ruth. Now!" He clapped his hands together. 

You felt your eye twitch, your teeth grinding together before you reeled your leg back underneath the table and kicked his own as hard as you could. The action caused your knee to meet the bottom of the table, the silverware catching air for a moment before clattering to their spots again. 

Your eyes screamed in pain, while you kept a tight smile on your lips, though, in all honesty, you were simply baring your teeth at him. “Thanks for the introduction, Alastor.” You looked back over to Mimzy then- 

“I think we’re ready to order.”

“But I haven’t even seen the menu!” Ruth whined.

You clenched the napkin in your lap.

Alastor cleared his throat and held up an appeasing hand. "Three of your finest shrimp po'boys, Mimz, and a banana foster on stand-by for the little darling!" 

Mimzy crinkled her nose as though she wished to argue his order and perhaps continue to intrude, but with a small glance over to you, she hitched a strained smile on her face and flounced off with a nod. 

It didn’t take the three of you long to receive your food, Ruth practically inhaling and choking on a shrimp when she got it. You, however, were rather quiet.  _ Friend.   
_

Needless to say, it affected you enough to sour your appetite - but because of your upbringing, you forced yourself to eat. Ruth finished her meal first, you followed second as she rushed you to color a picture of a magnolia with her, which, admittedly, was a good distraction from the burning sensation you got whenever you  _ knew  _ Alastor was staring at you.

“Oh, look how pretty! Are you going to bring it home?” You inquired lightly, your voice a bit softer to your awareness of the time. Ruth let out a yawn and nodded, and that was the moment your stomach decided to rumble in disagreement. 

You paused and set the blue crayon down, and pushed your chair out. It had been a slowly rising feeling of nausea that you tried to ignore, thinking to yourself that you had simply eaten too quick. But now your throat felt dry, and you felt  _ chilled.  _

“Al.” You leaned back in your chair. “Where’s the restroom?” Your voice was even softer than before, as if talking sapped your energy. 

Alastor raked his eyes over your form, a small crease forming between his brows; your body language was suddenly off. 

"Tucked back there by the kitch-"

You were already scooting out your seat. 

“Excuse me.”

When you were out of view from the common folk, you started to run towards the restroom, using your shoulder to brace for the impact as you forced yourself through the door. Everything was a blur, you felt so  _ incredibly  _ dizzy to the point of you fearing that you very well pass out. Thankfully, due to the hour, the restroom was empty and, as you entered a stall, you fell to your knees and practically emptied your guts into the toilet. 

The nausea came in waves, cresting with each thump of your heart, and you could taste the lingering sourness of your stomach bile on your teeth. Your forehead broke out in dewy perspiration, and your vision swam just before your stomach churned again. More of your meal ended up in the toilet, and with a few final dry heaves, you finally composed yourself enough to clumsily wipe your mouth on the hemline of your dress. 

You staggered to your feet and after flushing away the evidence, opened the stall and stumbled towards the sink; cupping your hands together, you washed your mouth out and then stood there for what felt like  _ forever.  _ Your hands braced you on either side of the sink, the water still running all the while. 

You took one last moment to splash a bit of cold water against your overheated cheeks, and then turned the water off. When you brought your head up to look at your reflection in the mirror, you caught sight of that blonde-bobbed waitress just off to the side. For a long moment, it was simply a stare-off before your brain caught up with reality and you turned to look at Mimzy from over your shoulder.

“How… long have you been standing there?” Your voice was weak.

“Long enough.”

You frowned, and you turned to look back at your features in the mirror. Pieces of hair stuck to your dewy forehead, your cheeks were flushed, basically a mess. “Did you poison my food?” Because in your mind, that was the only possible explanation. 

Mimzy crossed her arms over her rather voluptuous chest with a huff, "What would make you think that, you dumb Dora?" 

“That attitude.” You quipped back immediately. “Do you treat all your clients like that, or just the ones that you think have romantic relations with Alastor? Which,” you gave a wry smile, “is wrong. We have  _ sexual  _ relations.”

Mimzy flushed but to her credit, simply crossed her arms tighter and gave you a quick look over. A sudden thought seemed to cross her face, and her mouth turned down into a frown. 

"You slept with Al'?" Her voice was quiet. 

There was a pause, in which you hoped your vicious smirk was enough for her to get the message. To your surprise, the blonde threw her head back with a laugh, clapping a well manicured hand to her mouth in her glee. 

"You might wanna check the date on the calendar, sugar! A little something tells me a broad’s gotten herself into some trouble." 

Your expression flatlined. 

“No.”

And then you took a deep breath. “No  _ fucking  _ way. You tried to poison me. Just admit it.” And then you were trying to walk past her, your heated palms grabbing the steel handle to the door. 

Mimzy grabbed your elbow at the last second, "I'd do it too," She sighed, staring wistfully at your midsection. "If I had a guy like that sniffin' around, I'd find a way to lock him down." She gave you a smirk and pushed past you, her sugary sweet perfume nearly triggering your gag reflex again. 

You hurried back to the table before you could get any worse, determined to collect Ruth and head home. “Can we go home?” You looked to Alastor then - and if your expression didn’t betray your inner turmoil, you weren’t sure what would. Ruth, thankfully, had passed out on the table. Her bowl had been moved just off to the side so she didn’t fall into it. 

“ _ Please.”  _ You didn’t even sit back down.

The man looked you over, and seeing the green tinge to your face and the sheen of sweat still on your skin, simply nodded before standing. He helped Ruth from her chair and then threw down a generous amount of money. He tucked your arm into the crook of his elbow and offered his other hand to Ruth. Your stomach twisted in a way that had little to do with your nausea and you quickly chastised yourself as he moved you onward.

The night air was welcome on your heated face, the crickets chirping their complex song. 

After walking in silence for some time, even Ruth remaining sedated, Alastor finally sighed and turned his attention to you. 

"Darling, are you alright?" 

All you could manage in that moment was going slack and leaning into his side, relying on him to keep most of your weight despite the fact that you forced yourself to keep moving. You were almost home. You could make it. It was just up the block. It was something that Alastor would find undoubtedly strange considering that you  _ usually  _ respected his preferences.

You were so lost in your thoughts that you barely heard his question.

Alastor couldn't stop his muscles from tensing when you leaned against him. He gave you a glance and noted just how truly horrible you looked. In spite of the spike of irritation that undeniably flared in his chest, Alastor huffed harshly out through his nose, but resolved to wrap his arm tighter around your waist so as to better support you. 

The rest of the walk was left in silence, and when you finally peeled yourself off of his side, you were at your front door. Opening it, you let Ruth in before turning to him. 

“Go to the window on the side of the house. You have to jump onto the top of the shed to get to it, but there’s a ladder there. It’s my room.” You pointed in the direction, and before he could protest, you walked into your home and closed the door directly in his face.

You quickly got Ruth a cup of warm milk and sent her on her way to bed. She was old enough after all to clean her face and teeth before falling asleep. You reached the stairs that led up to your room, taking a minute to pause as another wave of nausea rolled over you. You noted silently that your father’s bedroom door was closed, which meant that he had gone to sleep. 

Swallowing thickly, you managed to trek up the remainder of the stairs and down the hallway, before swinging your own bedroom door open. 

Flickering on the light, you went towards the window and unlocked it before turning around and began rummaging through the countless piles of paper on your bureau which started calmly but was quickly growing frantic. 

Faintly, you registered the sound of your window being pushed open and Alastor softly calling your name. You grunted in response, too focused on your search to give time to proper lady-like responses. 

It wasn't until he suddenly appeared at your side, looming into your personal bubble like only he could, that you finally gave him a moment. 

“Just… sit down on my bed or something. There’s probably a chair somewhere if that’s not your style. Give me a minute.” And then you were back to your search. 

"Dearest," He sighed. "As much as I enjoyed scaling your wall like some-"

“I said  _ sit,  _ Alastor. _ ”  _ Your patience snapped as you threw down a pile of papers off to the side. Another wave of nausea rolled through you. Finally, you found the one you were looking for - it wasn’t a proper calendar, but something that worked for you that had unfortunately been suffocated by the onslaught of books and papers that you had lying about.

Whether or not he actually sat was a question you didn’t get the answer to, because you soon were looking at the dates of your past periods. 

“What’s today's date?”  _ You knew the date.  _

From his position on your bed, Alastor quirked an eyebrow. 

"April 23rd, darling." 

You felt your knees buckle and you fell to the floor in a heap, clutching that stupid piece of paper in your hands that  _ told  _ you that Mimzy had been right. That you had messed up. That you had made a mistake that you couldn’t take back now. “It’s late.” Your voice was almost inaudible. 

_ It was late by three weeks. _

"I beg your pardon?" Alastor's eyes widened slightly behind his glasses. His mouth tugged downward in confusion. 

“It’s  _ late.”  _ You repeated a bit louder that time, and you put the paper down and managed to push yourself up. You turned to face him. “Do you… know what that means?” Time seemed so slow, suddenly. The world was practically non-existent. Nothing mattered to you more in this moment.

The man hesitated, tongue peeking out between his teeth, a sign of his uncertainty, "Yes, I suppose the hour is growing late, but you were the one who demanded I climb up-"

You looked at him as if he had four heads. Alastor, the one who prided himself with being the best, didn’t know the basics of female reproductive cycles. It honestly was enough for you to solidify the idea in your mind that men were caught up in their own little egotistical world of self praise.

_ Ridiculous. _

You pinched your eyebrows together as you took a step forward and then another, before you held out the paper to him, and then offered your palm in hopes that he would give you his hand. You still couldn’t bring yourself to say it. 

“Give me your hand.”

With narrowed eyes, as though he outrageously expected you to give another outburst, Alastor placed his hand in yours. He raised an eyebrow expectantly but thankfully stayed silent. 

Picking up the end of your dress, you led his hand underneath before letting it rest on your belly. Now  _ you  _ were the one to stare at him expectantly. “Do you understand now?” Your voice was softer than it had ever been before.

_ Weak _ almost.

His hand constricted against your soft skin, as the gears in his head finally began to crank. His mouth suddenly felt rather dry and he swallowed thickly, eyes locked at the spot just south of your belly button. 

"You, ah," Alastor cleared his throat, damningly at a loss for words. "You haven't, ah that is to say, your-" 

You remained silent.

A twitch developed in Alastor's temple, ticking in time to his now thundering heartbeat. He licked his lips and finally brought his eyes up to meet your own. A lightbulb suddenly went off in his head, and the cautionary tales his mother told him as a child of the consequences of intimacy with another all came rushing back. 

He breathed in sharply with his nose and he licked his lips before continuing, "You're… you're, ah,  _ with child _ ?" 

“Yeah.” You confirmed. Your voice did  _ not  _ suit your inward panic, and your walls were  _ quickly  _ plummeting to the ground.

"And," The man seemed frozen in his spot, hand still tightly pressed to your stomach. "It is… mine?" 

You scrunched your face up, biting your tongue. Your smart quips weren’t needed right now, but impulse was often too quick for you. A shaky sigh escaped you instead as your anxieties finally caught up with the reality of the situation.

Your body began to tremble. You were freaking out absolutely - but a lot differently than he was. Perhaps it was instinctual for one of the parents to appear stable while the other was amidst a breakdown, even when they weren’t at all stable. 

“... Yeah.” Your voice cracked, your eyes beginning to blur. “It’s yours.”

There was a heavy, long beat of silence. Alastor's brow had creased inwards, the corner of his lips twitching. However, in what seemed like a blink of an eye, the man abruptly stood and gathered you in his arms, practically crushing you to his much larger form. 

"Mine." He repeated, nose buried in the sweet smelling spot just behind your ear. His large hands came to clutch tightly to the back of your dress. 

Your expression twisted from shock, to confusion, realization, and then finally… finally, relief. When you closed your eyes, tears poured down your cheeks as a sob fell from your lips.  _ His.  _ You were shaking in his grip. “D-does this mean…” you couldn’t continue, a hiccup escaping you.

_  
Would he stay?  _

Or would he let you rot just like the victims that remained wholly unaware to you? 

Alastor drew back just enough so that he could peer down upon your tear-splotted face. He gave you a long look before pressing the tip of his nose against your own, so that his mouth practically rested against your own as he spoke. 

"I told you I'm a man of my word, darling." His voice was low and some of his natural drawl had returned. "You're mine. You're both mine." 

As the words settled in your mind, your lips twitched as if they weren’t entirely sure on where to go, before a grin broke out across your face. “I’m yours.” You pressed your lips to his softly, tentatively, your nose rubbing against his. 

“We’re yours.”


	4. When Will You Learn, THAT YOUR ACTIONS HAVE CONSEQUENCES?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> warning/triggers: explicit sexual content, anxiety, argument

From the very moment Alastor heard your whispered words, it was as if some great, taunt string inside of him snapped. He had been fighting off his more selfish impulses (he had not forgotten the thought having of you laid out and at his mercy, beautifully marked and bleeding) since he had first captured your interest in him.

He knew from the moment your small, delicate palm had folded into his, that your body would belong to him. As time progressed, Alastor found himself to be growing possessive in ways that often caused him mental anguish.

He was hedonistic, hungry for excitement and thrill, and even still at times hungered to truly taste your flesh. However, he could not lie and say he did not greatly come to enjoy your company, your wit and charm. You kept him on his toes and so he simply kept you, content to have you as merely a plaything.

Now, with the knowledge of what (who) you carried within that same body, Alastor's spine was buzzing with adrenaline. A new sense of want filled his sternum, an odd warmth lingering there, and for one of the first times, he felt a surge of protectiveness for another.

Your kiss had been tentative, soft, questioning. His lips were bruising as he crushed his mouth to yours in return, catching you off guard enough that you staggered. His strong arms wrapped securely around you, one to the fit of your waist and the other with a hand cradling the back of your head.

His tongue delved into your mouth, as though he was desperately intoxicated by the taste of you. His fingers came to card through your hair; he used his nimble fingers to tug on the strands in just the right way as to encourage you to angle your head or part your lips more. You could do little but accept it, breathlessly caught up in the burning urgency in his actions.

Kisses upon the back of the hand were a common occurrence in your life, be it within greeting or farewell; cheek kisses were another commonly used action of affection, though they were mostly used with relatives or dates.

The kisses that had your heart skip a beat, the ones that made a chill run up your spine and your skin to alight with a flame that you so rarely felt, were reserved to those that you cherished, longed to protect and make happy - the ones that you could fantasize starting a family with and create a successful lineage of happy little souls. You had never been a kisser.

But Alastor had the tendency to throw you in a tizzy, into a loop that was never ending and exciting. It was a bit overwhelming, to be quite honest - to come to the understanding that you had a new life growing inside of you; that the body you possessed was also nurturing another. Your sobs had settled at long last into a series of soft sniffles that Alastor had silenced with his affection, each graze of his lips upon yours giving you that much more hope that this wasn’t a fluke.

That he was telling the truth.

That he, the man that had created this life with you, would stay. You were expecting - and with that came a whole lot of baggage that you weren’t entirely sure Alastor was even ready for. You weren’t sure if you were. But those little thoughts fueled on anxiety, problems and scenarios that offered you no peace of mind were slowly being turned into mush as you fell deeper and deeper into that beautiful world that he was creating for you. How lovely it was to finally be free of worry.

Even if it was temporary.

His lips were chapped against yours, lacking the proper care that women were expected to partake in - though that was the least of your worries, all things considered. Your own were soft and easily intoxicating to those that had the chance to experience a woman’s kiss, though the only one that had experienced your own… had been Alastor. Your heart thrummed in your chest, your pulse increasing tenfold as you felt that hidden roughness trickle into his movements. Good.

You may have been pregnant, but you weren’t the doll that he claimed you to be. You would not break so easily.

However, your lungs begged to differ and soon enough the lack of oxygen made you attempt to pull away just to get a breath or two. Your mouth was parted as you took in that precious amount of air, and after a moment of righting yourself, you snuck a glance up to him: “What… was that thing you said earlier?” You panted, your hair already a mess.

And then your lips quirked slightly, and you reached up to press a kiss to his chin. “Friends…” you breathed, your eyes fluttering closed for a moment to breathe in his scent: leather, coffee, and was that a hint of cedar? A small hum reverberated in your throat - though, if you were being honest, you were curious to know what exactly you were.

Especially now.

Alastor made a sound deep in his chest, a gruff rumble quite unlike anything you had heard him sound like before. His glasses glinted in the low light of your bedroom, but his eyes were dark and glazed over with hunger. The sight alone made another quiver run down the column of your spine and sparked a flicker of heat in your core.

Alastor tipped your chin up further with the use of his pointer finger, "I suppose this does complicate matters..." Voice hoarse, he paused and allowed his eyes to roam over your features and the graceful curve of your stretched and angled neck.

He had meant to keep you until he wished to see the light leave your eyes as you lay dying by his hand. Now, in a rather outlandish twist of fate, the two of you had managed to create a life, something that the morbid part of him found truly amusing. After all, his intention had been to push the boundaries of your social graces, followed by the boundaries of your mortal form. Instead, it seemed his curiosity of it all was going to be soothed another way.

It did, however, also come with a heavy handed side of uncertainty and moral urgency. Alastor prided himself on being of man of moral code, although it was something that was in constant flux thanks to his many moods and fancies. He admittedly was not usually a fan of children - although he tolerated them perhaps easier than some - nor did he ever picture himself in the role of a father. That said, he had never harmed a child and knew that in spite of his violent tendencies, an heir could prove an interesting addition to the course of his goals.

It was quite the pickle.

He tucked a stray strand of your hair behind the curve of your ear, fingers trailing softly down the side of your throat only to come to a rest at your collarbone. Seemingly lost in his train of thought once more, Alastor tapped a pattern against the delicate bone there, tongue swiping at his bottom lip (no wonder his lips were so chapped) and gave you a searching look.

"I do believe propriety dictates that, ah," His left eye gave a small twitch, betraying his inner turmoil. He cleared his throat with a light cough and moved his hand from your clavicle to instead lace between the fingers of the hand you held at your side. "I should think the mother gets a say, after all."

You brought your gaze down to curiously inspect his hand that was interlaced with your own. For the first time, you were able to see the callouses upon the pads of his fingers, the grooves of his knuckles and the way that the hairs atop his arm caught the lighting in the room, standing on end either due to discomfort or some other wild emotion that you would never be able to discover. An enigma of a man, truly.

Though, as smart as you thought Alastor to be, he had the tendency to make you think twice at times.

Especially when subjects similar to these arrived - though, you didn’t necessarily blame him per say… were frustrated with him. Friends. Ridiculous. The way he kissed you, touched you, claimed that you were his and he had the audacity to tell an actual friend that you were just the cat’s pajamas when it came to relationships. It left a sour taste in your mouth.

So to get back at him, because let’s face it, you were just as petty as he was, you decided to simply look back up to him with a raised brow.

“Oh yeah?” You challenged, leaning up to him. “You know, Al, I’m curious,” you were peeved, though anyone in their right mind would be. Standing on your tippy toes, you brushed your nose against his, your lips ghosting over with your continuation.

“Why don’t you tell me what friends are?” You whispered.  
In spite of the outward appearance of intelligence and self assuredness that Alastor maintained at all times, personal connections were something that often passed his notice. He was a charmer and operated behind the metaphorical mask he chose to present, a snake laying in wait in the grass to strike; a shark just behind a thin pane of glass.

Therefore it took him a rather embarrassing amount of time to grasp exactly what it was that had made you seem to turn on him so suddenly. He gave a wiry chuckle and brushed the frame of his glasses up to a higher point on his nose.

"Forgive me, darling." His smile was smooth and enticing in a way that made your fingers tingle with the want to slap it off his face.

"I tend to forget these delicate things can be upsetting to your sentimental, womanly mind."

You reached up and flicked him on the forehead.

Asshole.

“That doesn’t answer my question.” You huffed. “And just because I’m a woman doesn’t mean that I’m some…” you made a face as you thought of the best word to describe it. “Weak when it comes to emotions.” You stepped forward, pressing your body against him and completely disrespecting his stupid rules. “I seem to have a better understanding of them than you do, at least.” Now you were just testing him.

Your emotions were in a whirlwind, and you wanted this settled once and for all.

Alastor rolled his eyes, largely due to the fact that he was rather fond of the way your eyes seemed to cloud over in your anger, the way your body language became more aggressive. These were cues he could understand and keeping you in such an emotional state only made it easier for him to direct the conversation where he felt it needed to go. Indifference was a sour point for you, and the man knew it.

"Oh little darling," Alastor waved his hand about freely, as though banishing a pesky fly rather than attempting to hold such an intimate conversation. "Free will is a fickle thing. After all," Here he paused and booped the tip of your nose. "We are free to make our own choices but we are never truly free from the consequences."

His eyes darted once more to the still flat plane of your belly but when they returned to meet your still steely gaze, there was a flash of boldness in them, "In fact, I'm not quite sure I'm certain your weakness for sins of the flesh should equate to shackling myself-"

That was the breaking point, because the next moment, you reeled your fist back and cracked it against his jaw. The pain was something that you would undoubtedly feel later once your adrenaline resided, but in this moment, where your hormones and emotions were out of whack, your patience was the thing that was fickle.

“You,” you hissed out. “You stupid shitfuck of a sheik! You are the reason that this is happening to begin with, you are the one that came to my house in the middle of the night covered in blood, you are the one that led me to believe that there could have been something more when you slept with me! But oh no, you are so god damn self-centered that you didn’t even THINK how this might affect me! Us!” You took a step back then to turn around as you ranted off your mind.

“You say things like ‘Mine’, and you give me kisses and all of these signs of affection and then you don’t expect me to think that there’s something more to,” you spun on your heel and wildly motioned between the two of you, “This!” Your chest was heaving, and your eyes were wild as your paced back and forth. It was a rather large house - you didn’t have to be quiet. The walls were so incredibly thick that if you had been getting murdered, you doubted anyone would even hear.

“And then you have the audacity to tell Missy or whatever the hell her name is that we’re just friends. Because that’s what we are, right? Friends? You want a wake up call, Al? Here it is! We’re NOT friends! Friends don’t do this! Friends don’t get each other pregnant!” Your fists were balled at your side.

If you huffed anymore, you were pretty damn certain you would have blown the entire house down.

Alastor stood silently across from you, hand pressed to the sore spot of his jaw where your fist had connected. His eyes were wide and shining with some bastardized version of pride, lips curled into a deadly smirk, as though he was greatly entertained by your outburst. He squared his jaw and massaged the tender flesh there before saying coolly, "Mimzy. Her name is Mimzy, my dear-"

“Mimzy.” You repeated. “Mimzy! Oh right, her name is Mimzy!” A short laugh as you took a step forward, and then another, before you reeled your fist back for a second time and this this, oh, this time, you felt shards on glass dig into your knuckles as his glasses were shattered. And they said a woman couldn’t fight back. You’d show him. You staggered back slightly from the force, but ended up righting yourself again.

Alastor had hunched over at the moment of contact, having turned away from you to better recover from your sudden strike. His broad shoulders were squared, the lean muscles of his back tense under the layers of clothing he wore, but he made no move as to address you, his ragged breathing the only sign he was in fact present.

You crinkled your nose.

“Did you even hear anything I just said, you buffoon? You absolute chickenshit? God, you are unbelievable! Maybe you should have fucked Mimzy then! Since that’s all you seem to care about when I’m telling you more important things!” You didn’t move to approach him, your own shoulders sagging as you caught your breath. You were absolutely winded.

Silence.

You stared at his hunched over form for what felt like forever. “So now you go silent, huh?” You finally whispered once you got your breathing under control, the anger still spitting hot flames underneath your skin.

Ironic.

“Get out.” You spat.

At your commanding tone, Alastor abruptly shuddered as though some electrifying force coursed through his form. He straightened up with a burst of his usual speed, a few clicks emitting as he rolled the tension from his shoulders. When he turned to face you once more, he wore a truly fearsome look on his usually oh-so-handsome face. The first small trickle of fear spilled down your spine as you noticed the small gash near his left eyebrow, a steady flow of crimson dribbling down his cheek.

The man stood to his full height and tucked his hands neatly behind his back, seemingly content to ignore the gore on his face. The smile he wore was tight, mouth twisted into the harsh line of a snarl more than something filled with good humour. Without warning, he moved forward with a graceful yet menacing step in your direction.

Despite the fear that was a natural instinct to you in this moment - you were also fueled by your own anger and desire to protect not only yourself, but the life that was forming inside of you. So you rooted yourself to the ground, your own nose wrinkling. You weren’t going anywhere, come hell or high water.

Your sudden swarm of anxiety only caused you to dig yourself into a deeper grave as you stared him down; and this time, you weren’t sure if you would be able to get out of it.

In the blink of an eye, Alastor used his long legs to travel the remaining distance between the pair of you, his movements quick and with all the confidence of the hunter he was. It was the first time he had been able to openly challenge your anger and he quivered slightly against the twinge of excitement that bubbled up in his sternum, mind racing with a number of devious thoughts.

By the time his feet had landed squarely in front of your own, the two of you toe to toe, he had wrapped a hand in the thick hair at the base of your head.

He tugged sharply on the strands so that he was able to leer down at you, as though you were nothing more than some bug under a magnifying glass. His other hand came to grip your face, nimble fingers pressing so hard against the side of your cheeks that your lips puckered from the force. The blood stemming from the cut on his temple had reached his lips and dribbled down over his chin. It was with a lascivious smirk that he leaned in just close enough that you could smell the faint metallic stench that he was emitting.

His lips brushed yours when he spoke next, the taste of iron lingering there, "I thought I warned you against playing such games, girl." His voice was a deep, reverberating growl, all traces of his smooth on-air tone gone.

Your jaw was starting to hurt from the pressure being applied, and it would have been so easy to just kick him where the sun didn’t shine, or even slam your foot down on his shoe, but in that moment all you could bring yourself to think was purely based on instinct alone. His fingernails began to cut into the epidermal layer of your skin, and if you could have, you absolutely would have bared your teeth at him.

But the fear was paralyzing.

“Not a game.” Your words were barely legible from how tightly your jaw was being held. “I’m not…” you tried to move your head, to alleviate some of that discomfort, but it was all for naught in the end. “Your toy.” You brought one of your hands up then in an attempt to remove his fingers from your face.

Alastor rolled his eyes again at your antics. His hand was so drastically larger than your own, he was easily able to place his palm over the near entirety of your face and with a quick, rough shove, managed to send you flying backwards. The backs of your knees hit the edge of your bed and you tumbled down, landing firmly on the flat of your back.

All you could focus on in that moment was alleviating that pulsing in your jaw, and instinctively, your hand came to rub it, your face fifty shades of pissed the hell off. Your focus didn’t shift off of it until you heard the creak of the floorboards, and that was the moment that you snapped your gaze to Alastor, a large frown on your lips as you gently massaged your jaw.

And because your impulsivity often got the best of you: “Red looks good on you. Maybe you should get punched more often.” You muttered under your breath sarcastically. Your anger had been ultimately fueled by your frustration, afterall.

Alastor's brow rose in response to your words, his glittering eyes tracking you as you moved to sit up. Just as soon as you caught your balance on your elbows, he swiftly moved to push you down once more. You let out a huff of surprise as you suddenly found his long, lanky form straddling your hips. Your hands flew to the lapel of his blazer, but one more hand came to slap your own away, this time the man clicked his tongue with mocking disapproval.

“Get off of me.” You tried your best to roll your hips to dislodge him, but it was an astounding failure.

"Hmm," Alastor pursed his lips as though pondering some difficult thought. "No, no I don't think I will. You see, darling," He removed one hand from your body so he could twist and pull something from his back pocket. Your eyes lingered warily on his face as he pulled on his favoured black leather gloves. He took a moment to drag his now covered finger through the trail of blood that still coated his temple and cheek. "You've made quite the mess and it's only proper you should atone for it."

He smeared the blood between his pointer and thumb, and then promptly moved his gloved hand to your face so as to clean them on your own skin. He made sure to coat your lips in crimson, pushing the tip of his pointer in between your teeth, as though expecting you to clean it with your tongue.

But before he could take it back out, you bit him. He gave a grunt of surprise and jerked back just enough to break your hold, although you were momentarily satisfied that you had clearly been able to hurt him back.

The sharp clink of his belt buckle being popped open brought a quick end to your optimism, that small smile that had begun to form on your face immediately falling. Suddenly, your stomach felt like it had switched places with your heart, that fear slowly coming back to rest in your thrumming pulse.

There was a brief moment, a pause in which over the thudding of your heart, you two locked eyes and then something in the man seemed to snap. With near effortlessness, Alastor caught your wrists and round the length of his belt around them, securing you in place, cinching in the buckle.

"There you are, my dear!" His mouth was twisted in cruel amusement. "Right as rain now!" He even had the audacity to tap you on the nose.

Bringing your bounded hands in front of you, you looked at them with a perplexed expression before, of course, trying to unwind them. When you realized what exactly was happening, you slowly transferred your gaze to his, your eyelids lowering in an unamused manner, before they narrowed.

“I wonder how your peers will react when I tell them that you tied me up because you were scared of being beaten by a girl.” And then your eyes widened as if you had a bright idea, a maliciousness hidden in your gaze. “Or how about your listeners! Aw, that would just stink, wouldn’t it?” You knew exactly what you were doing. You knew what things you could win at, and Alastor was definitely not someone you could overpower.

But that didn’t mean you couldn’t make it a living hell for him.

“All that fortune and fame gone in the blink of an eye.” You jutted your bloody bottom out in a pout. “Off to the streets again…” You let your arms fall back over your head again, seemingly giving into it all with a very dramatic sigh. “Or maybe to the pound. You know, since you’re such a little bitch.”

Alright, you could get behind this. If this was the type of language he spoke, then you were already a master at it. In your eyes, you had already won. Because then you winked, rolled your hips to rub against him, and released the most lewd-sounding moan you had ever uttered:

“Mm, oh Alastor…!”

You peeked an eye open to him, a shit-eating grin on your face the entirety of the time. This was almost too much fun.

The man in question had frozen - eyes rounded with pupils blown wide, mouth set in a thin line in a rare moment without his smile - at the first shift of your rolling hips. The thin, breathy tone of your voice, the way your blood-stained lips moved to form the sound of his name and the feel of your muscles moving under the grip of his gloves was Alastor's final tipping point.

His teeth caught his bottom lip in a moment of wild glee that always seemed to precede the beginning of any hunt. He jerked the belt roughly in his hands so that he was able to easily manipulate your body up and towards him, putting just enough pressure on your spine to make sure you were arched into the hard planes of his body. From this new proximity, Alastor slowly tilted his head towards yours, before flicking his tongue out and over the dried blood on your lip.

"Is that the best you can do?" He practically sneered; you noticed a small fleck of your blood on the front of his teeth.

“I thought you knew me.” You replied, your words falling from your lips in a heated breath. The position alone was enough for you to begin to forget the true reason of your anger; reason and rhyme meaning less and less as time went on. Your eyes were hooded from the lack of distance between the two of you, and perhaps even by the moment that was being shared. “When was the last time…” you sighed hotly into his mouth. “That I gave up that easily?”

Alastor gave a sharp nip to your bottom lip, as though to meet your challenge over lack of space. He quickly ghosted his mouth against yours as though to soothe the sting, "Then unfortunately, my darling," One hand moved from its hold on the belt to tickle the tips of his fingers against your side, "I'm afraid we're going to have to switch up the game."

His warm palm suddenly moved to cup your mound through the fabric of your simple panties, your dress having been tucked up to your hips in the midst of your scuffle.

A shiver ran up your spine, the hairs along your arms and the back of your neck standing up straight at the warmth and pressure, which had originally been simply bare to room temperature; your stomach flipping and a flame being born in your gut.

"Remember my rule?" He cooed down at you, a finger working to slip just inside the fabric.

You blinked up at him, your furrowed eyebrows enough of an answer.

"Don't wake anyone up." And with a surprisingly delicate tug, Alastor had your core bare before him. He gave a slight hum of appreciation at the sight, noting that in spite of your jabs, your excitement was clear. The next moment found him pressing a hot, open mouthed kiss just to the top of your folds, taking care to press his nose to the small bundle of nerves he remembered to be hidden there.

A sharp breath was your only response when rivaled with your original confusion. “Is that all?” You inquired softly, a sense of nerves somehow beginning to overtake your heated responses. “That rule is easy. No one can hear through these walls.” You tried to roll your hips again, this time hoping to get some of the relief you hadn’t even realized you were seeking. “Why don’t you make it a challenge, darling?”

He grinned up at you from his place between your thighs, puffs of warm breath washing over the slick that had begun to accumulate there. His insufferable smirk made a brief reappearance, "As you wish."

The first touch of his tongue to your oversensitive bud was achingly tender, the pressure frustratingly inconsistent. You rolled your hips again, chasing more of that friction you knew could exist; his hands, still bound by his leather gloves, flew to grip your hips with near bruising force. He lifted his head just enough to reprimand you with a click of his tongue, before he returned to your core.

Your eyebrows were furrowed tightly together as you tried to figure out the meaning of the sound he made, but it was rather difficult with the soft press of his tongue against your clit in a way that made you lay your head back down. “What… what was the, mn, click for?” Your voice was soft.

He leisurely swirled his tongue, firm and hot, against your clit before murmuring into your folds, "Stay still." He gave it a gentle suck, a sinfully obscene sound. "Be a good girl for me and I might just untie you."

“Yes…” you breathed softly, your eyes fluttering shut for a moment as you focused on the feeling before you made a split-second last decision that could have very well been for two reasons, “... Daddy.” Your face immediately scrunched up then. “Sir?” Yeah, that sounded a lot better. You peeked an eye open despite knowing full well that you wouldn’t be able to catch his eye.

Alastor hummed, too busy focusing on returning to his task to humour you much. He peppered the inside of your upper thigh with kisses until his lips found their target, tongue moving to stroke within your folds, darting out just enough to tease your slick entrance.

"A-Ah, God…" The words fell from your lips before you could catch yourself.

When he lifted his head again, your arousal shone on his mouth and cheeks; the sight alone made the coiling pressure in your belly spike.

"Hmm, not quite." He winked up at you.

Silence and paralyzation - you wanted a challenge, not a god damn impossible task. Still though, you managed to only let out a huff despite a thousand other phrases longing to leave your lips. Your mind was losing its hold on reality the closer you got, but each time he stopped to talk or do something else, the anguish that you felt was unfathomable.

“Please.” Your bravado had faltered long ago. He knew just how to kick you to your knees and beg, just as much you knew how to piss him off. It was a love-hate relationship.

"Please what, dearest? Try and use your big girl words," He snarked, thrumming his fingers against your hip bone.

“Please untie me.” You whined, rolling your hips into him. “Please fuck me.”

His responding smile was predatory, reminding you eerily of some shark lurking in the bottomless depths of the Gulf. He sighed your name before shifting to sit back on his knees. Your small body was still pinned under his heavier one, but in a moment of generosity, he reached out and unbuckled the clasp before tossing his belt over his shoulder.

You gave a slight yelp as he quickly shifted again, this time hooking one of your legs over his arm so that your body opened for him. He hastily wrestled with the button on his slacks, preferring to keep the majority of his clothing on in his frantic state. He was throbbing by the time he gently pressed himself to your heat.

“C’mere,” you murmured softly, reaching out to him.

He eagerly brushed his mouth to yours, happily accepting the moan that escaped you as his length finally sank into you. In that moment, you had never felt so full. It was a sensation that couldn’t have been rivaled by anything else - and if it could have been, you wouldn’t have given it the time of day. Your lips met his as a sharp breath was inhaled, your back arching slightly off of the bed to appease the sudden intrusion, your belly lightly brushing against his own.

Your hands all at once found the sides of his face, your thumbs gently tracing against his cheekbones. In that moment, all of his infuriating and frustrating qualities were forgotten, the reason you were on this bed together were forgotten, the only thing that mattered in that moment was the feeling, the way he slowly sank deeper and parted your walls in a way that only he could, and, experimentally, you fluttered the muscles there in a curiosity of whether or not it would affect him.

“Al,” you sighed hotly into his mouth, your own cheeks flushed and red from the heat of the moment. You closed your eyes and let your fingertips fall from his face and simply lay above your head in the same manner it had been when you had been tied up. There was just something about it.

“I don’t want to be friends. I want…” you hesitated, before going silent as you thought long and hard. But it was so difficult when he pulled out of you so nicely, and repeated the motion.

"Silly girl," He murmured as he thrust forward. Your inner walls clenched down as though to grip and keep him in place. He slowly withdrew once more. "How many times must I tell you-" Alastor thrust into you, one hand moving to settle against the soft skin of your throat; the leather cool against your flushed skin, "You belong to me."

He gave a sharper snap of his hips, starting to set a quicker pace. The hand on your neck gave an experimental squeeze, as though daring you to argue, "The little one growing in your belly belongs to me. And I truly must insist, darling, after all-"

At this he brought his other hand to seek out your clit once more; this meant some of his weight shifted to the hand still gripping your throat. The pressure was just enough to spark some deep thrill and send it shooting down your spine.

“We are tied together in a way that you cannot even begin to comprehend."

There was a faint sense of confusion to his words. Could he be anymore cryptic? You let out a breathy sigh amidst your pleasure; your mind soon swimming with scenarios and different fantasies, focusing on the feeling and lewd sounds of his slipping in and out of you, the pressure on your neck. Needless to say, you were reaching that sweet edge very quickly.

“May I please…” your voice was strained under the weight he had around your neck, though, your eyes remained closed; a small rivulet of bloodied drool escaping your lips as you chased that addicting release. “Please may I cum, sir?”

He chuckled, although he was sounding just as breathless as you were, his release quickly approaching. He rolled your little bud between the pads of his fingers and gave another deep thrust, "Cum for me now," His hips stuttered, that delicious heat building in his core. "Be a good girl and take everything I give you."

His words were half-registered in your mind, some unintelligible phrase leaving your lips - whether it be praise or simply his name was unknown to you as you were finally gifted that intense explosion of pleasure, the stars of distant galaxies supernova behind your eyes as you struggled to get in enough oxygen. It lasted for so long, yet not long enough.

But that slice of heaven was enough.

The tight squeeze of your velvety heat and your breathless words were enough to send Alastor following in your wake, a lewd groan of his own sounding in your ear as he pressed his face to the crook of your neck. Some deep instinctual voice urged him to claim you, mark you as his own so you wouldn't foolishly question him again.

This time, his teeth found the soft curve of your breast and just as he tipped over the edge and filled your heat with his own sticky release, he bit down hard enough to break the skin. It wasn't until the last lazy thrust of his hips did he break away, mouth popping away with a wet sound.

You had to grind your teeth together to not yell out in pain, so instead, you crushed your lips against his own bloodied ones until the urge was used up. When it was, you leaned back just enough to pant, your forehead dewy with a sheen of sweat. But before he could break the silence with his desire to simply speak, you did first.

“Don’t go.” The words were ushered quickly out of your mouth as you looked up to him. “Can you please stay?”

Still intimately connected, Alastor gave you a close look before gifting you with a rare, more genuine grin. He rested his forehead against your own, noses bumping as he spoke.

"As you wish."


	5. Golly Gee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ⚠️ warning ⚠️: explicit sexual content
> 
> (We’re thirsty - you should know this by now)

That slow, carousel of dreams, unattached thoughts, and ideas had begun to fade away as the silhouette of the sun rose upon the horizon. 

The shades that blocked out most of the daybreak rustled in tandem with the breeze, streams of light filtering in through the cracks of blinds that had laid undisturbed for most of the dawn.

Your exposed shoulders should have been more in tune with the sudden chill, but the overwhelming sense of heat that lay just off to the side of you was comforting enough for you to, semi-comatose, naturally navigate towards it. So you did, your breath escaping you with a soft sigh as you lazily reached an arm around and dusted your fingertips across a solid figure.

Your pupils constricted and dilated with the sudden change of lighting when you opened your eyes to inspect whatever it was, and when you did, you paused.

Darkened flesh sun-kissed by the star that lay low in the sky of Louisiana, a soft smile somehow still managing to stay on his face despite his consciousness escaping him, hair ruffled by sleep. 

You watched with a sudden rush of curiosity as the events of the previous night came rushing back to you, your heart rate picking up in pace for a moment as you reached out to gently trail your thumb over his bottom lip. It still had traces of dried blood on it, and with that, your eyes trailed up his face to the gash upon his eyebrow. Thankfully, the bleeding had stopped long ago and didn’t appear too deep. 

You were anguished at the thought of disturbing him from his rest; the thought that this vulnerability would be temporary, that eventually you would have to be forced to interact with his infuriating charm once more had you less inclined to want to wake him up. 

But the heat that was coming from his body, still partially clothed while your own was exposed to the elements of the room, though, thankfully covered with the quilt, you dared to lean closer and simply lay your head against his chest. You could hear his heart, and it lulled you into a state of peace and tranquility as your anxieties of the day started to pile into your mind. 

You rested your arm across his abdomen then, stomach pressing lightly to his side as you trailed your finger into delicate, random shapes as your mind began to fall into the very real reality that the two of you would undoubtedly face together. _Pregnant._ You were pregnant with his child. 

Alastor had never been much of a deep sleeper, more inclined to ignore his need for rest to better pursue whatever his latest fancy was. It was rare then, this feeling of his mind slowly coming back to awareness, the muscles of his lithe frame twitching amidst the numbness that had settled in his extremities from lack of movement.

In particular, the muscles of his stomach quivered, goosebumps littering his skin in response to the odd, feather light touches he was groggily just becoming aware of. There was a weight on his chest, a warmth he was not accustomed too either. A gentle, flowery scent hit his nose then, and as if some great creature suddenly awakening, his eyes flew open to find the messy tresses of your hair just in front of his line of vision. 

There as a pause, a brief break in his train of thoughts, in which the previous evening came flooding back. His entire frame froze then, the initial shock of contact with another and so soon after just returning to a state of awareness caused his body to tense.

He forced himself to take a deep breath (although he noted it didn't seem to disturb you, a far off look in your eyes) and rapidly blinked away the heavy feel of sleep from his eyes. He squinted slightly against the onslaught of the sunlight and briefly wondered where his glasses had gone to before _that_ memory also came rushing back.

His gaze moved then to better take you in - in spite of the odd position - and felt some maddeningly curious sense of anxiety at the sight of you curled so delicately against him. 

You were too caught up in your gentle exploration of him to notice that he had been shifting slightly beneath you, too caught up to catch the change in his heartbeat or the slight uptake in his pattern of breathing. He greedily took a moment to take in the soft expression you wore, the graceful lines of your face and youthful skin. He followed the lines and curves of your body, your sides rising gently with your breathing. You were a true belle to be sure, and that all consuming feeling of overprotective possessiveness washed over him once again. Alastor suddenly longed to bury his fingers in your hair, to arch your neck up so he could claim your lips with his own.

However, he was a man of his times and one that prided himself on propriety. He was hesitant to touch you regardless of the passion shared between you just hours earlier, in case you would startle and scream - he was new to such intimate connections with others, but he was no fool; him being present in a unwed girl’s bed would not be warmly accepted. He settled for gently clearing his throat instead, hoping it would be enough to bring your attention to where it belonged - him. 

You froze in your movements, the muscles in your back tightening as you came to the realization, slowly of course, that you were not the only one aware of the situation anymore. 

Your fingertips had paused in their movements, your eyes blinking a few times to bring you back to a state of awareness before you simply relaxed again.

He was awake, much to your disapproval; for you had wanted to continue with your actions with no real consequence. It was a rarity that you had the chance to touch him in such a way, and in this moment where you were amidst a sea of uncertainty, his presence was your anchor. He was that lone light within the heavy fog, leading your head up, up, up, until you met his gaze.

Your lips parted for a second as if they had wanted to form words, a simple greeting or even a ‘good morning’, but all that left you was a soft puff of air that could have tickled his face and disturbed the wavy hair that had begun to curl from movement.

The entire situation caused your toes to curl with anticipation, a burst of nervousness tapping at each individual vertebrae of your spine. It was still early enough that you were sure your family was still asleep, and to be fair, you weren’t entirely sure what had pulled you out of your slumber. 

Pushing yourself up just enough to tuck your head underneath his chin, you took in a deep inhale of his natural scent; it was so unfair that he smelled good, even now. Despite that rather obscene appearance of you without any type of clothing on, those having been tossed aside the prior night, you were completely content with just pressing yourself against him.

“Morning daddy,” you murmured sleepily, and yes, while the title could have very well been used to indicate something more lewd, your meaning was tailored towards a more delicate reasoning. More innocent.

To be quite honest with yourself, your grogginess was enough to limit your ability on boundaries - then again, you weren’t even sure what yours were anymore when it came to him. 

Alastor’s face gave a small, queer twitch at your words, the full implication hitting harder than perhaps they should have - but then again, he was currently somewhat pinned under your nude body and as the last dregs of sleep cleared from his mind, it was filled with nothing but the fact that you were in fact carrying his child. Unwed. Of different cultures. In your Father’s home. 

He shifted slightly, careful not to disturb your resting form, and gave in enough to his desires to run his fingers through your bed-head tresses, taking care not to tug too hard on the tangles. 

“Good morning to you too, doll.” His voice was still thick with the remains of sleepiness.

A lone finger came to tip your chin up and with a sigh that seemed to echo from the both of you, he brushed his warm lips against yours. The spark of protectiveness that had grown in his chest upon waking to find you curled to him seemed to suddenly flare, white hot, in his sternum and the hand in your hair moved to rest on the curve of your side. He pressed you to him tightly and it was only when the burning need for oxygen made itself known did he finally pull away from you. 

Your lips parted as you took in a deep breath, filling your lungs with much needed oxygen; he had the tendency to, if not physically, metaphorically take your breath away. You hadn’t been raised to rebel against your upbringing, the social etiquette that was drilled into toddler’s skulls before they could really even begin to form their own personality. The world had and would always be shaped and mended to better suit the minority of the population that was upper-class.

What they said, often went. 

Money had a way of making people do things, even if it wasn’t necessarily fair to others. Your personal family hadn’t been on the bottom of the totem pole, but you certainly weren’t someone who had slim pickings, either.

That being said, you supposed being raised mostly by a father who was easy-going into terms of strictness (though, you rarely did anything to spite him), and a mother who herself had her own flare of flame in her blood gave you a bit more freedom. 

But this was something that couldn’t have been prepared for. 

It was something that would find itself tearing apart your family and reputation if you weren’t careful about it - and Alastor had a lot more to lose than you did. From what you knew about his past (not much), he didn’t start wealthy, but now he was in the prime of his life and he had made something of himself. He had made a name for himself, a title, a part of that crazy world that you had never been able to experience.

But that was only in terms of work.

You couldn’t lie and come up with some wild story of the conception, couldn’t act like you had been pregnant before you even moved here, because you _hadn’t_ moved here. You had lived here the entirety of your life. You were unwed, pregnant, and in your neighborhood, you were _known._ You, in turn, knew the names of almost all of the people living on your block. 

The gossip was what scared you. 

Alastor could get out of it easily, spin up some lie and act as if he didn’t even know you. Men often had that advantage. That you were off your rocker, a helpless fan while he lived like spoiled royalty. Needless to say, the alarms were going off in your head like a blinding siren. Even as you further dig yourself in that grave, because if there was something that hadn’t changed, it was the fact that you adored him. 

Even if he was an antagonistic shithead.

You rested your chin on his sternum, peering up at him with a tiny, sleepy smile before the sudden urge to yawn overtook your entire being - and so you did, right in his face in fact. As you came down from that desire, you shot him a playful grin before attempting to clamber atop him and straddle his abdomen. 

Reaching back, you pulled the quilt over the two of you and tucked it behind the pillow behind his head so it would turn into some stupid fort. “There,” you snickered. You pressed your palms onto his chest to steady yourself as you leaned down, rubbing your nose against his. “Now you don’t have to squint.”

He blinked up at you, unable for once to keep the ounce of surprise out of his eyes. Your forwardness, particularly in terms of the new, more intimate manner of your relationship, still made him unsure.

It didn’t help the poor boy that you were, in fact, still fully nude and now under the protection of your quilt, your full womanly figure was on full display. His jaw worked, stiffening as though he was struggling to find his usual quick witted quip. Regardless, Alastor’s lips curled into his trademark smile, your impishness catching.

“Those were my favourite pair, you know.” He had the gall to pout up at you, unease leaving his features as his eyes crinkled in his growing mirth. “You owe me.” He gave your side a quick, somewhat gentle pinch as though to goad you more. He would've been lying to say that he didn’t relish the small flinch you gave in response, grin stretching almost painfully wide. 

He took the time, however, to soothe the skin there by rubbing the palm of his hand in calming circles. It may take some time, he supposed, but as things progressed with you in your new delicate state, he would have to rein in his puckish mannerisms. 

That thought alone made some warning sound in his head; some part of him knew that the two of you were in desperate need of a proper talk. However, with the soft morning light filtering through your quilt and the feel of your weight settled at his waist, it was more than enough to entice him to try and quiet his mind so he could fully and selfishly keep you hidden away for himself for a little while longer. 

A single eyebrow rose for a moment before it settled in a relaxed state once again. “Nah,” your attention fell to his nose then, and you lowered your face enough to kiss the tip before offering him a coquettish smile.

“It’s no one else’s fault than your own.” You shrugged. “Not my fault, I don’t owe you nothin’.” Your own accent fluttered out of your lips for a split second as you grew less pressed to keep up that ‘delicate and womanly’ disposition that you usually had. 

His mind was an enigma that you would never understand, but he was your weakness. You should have listened to your intuition from the beginning, because then you wouldn’t have been in this situation to begin with. But that intuition was manipulated just as you had been, caught off guard from his charm and wit. 

Alastor hummed his approval, taking a moment to rake his gaze over your form as you pressed closer to him. “You do have one helluva right hook, sweetheart.” There was a hint of pride to his tone and a steely glint in his eye that, had you known his true nature outside of what he had so far presented to you, would have told you he rather appreciated your tendency towards violence. 

“Good, because it hurt like hell.” Your gaze flickered towards your bruised knuckles, a small gash on one of them where a piece of glass had dug into your skin from the collision. “Though, I would have liked it better if I broke your nose instead.” You breathed out humorously as you twisted your wrist to show him your hand. 

You puffed out your chest slightly in your own pride, looking quite fond of the consequence you had given yourself. 

Your fiery jest caught him off guard just enough that he could not contain the peal of laughter that tumbled from his lips. You felt yourself begin to respond in kind, your own giggle catching in your throat when you realized just how damn _loud_ this man could be. You quickly slapped a hand to his mouth, the same one with the cut from the night before, and shushed him as best you could, as sternly as you could given you were perched atop him still. 

“I know this might be difficult for you, Al,” you muttered down at him, your look of disapproval not quite reaching your eyes. “But shut up.” Slowly, you took your hand away, hesitant and ready to slap it back over his mouth if he so chose to laugh again.

His eyes were nearly slits, half lidded and shining with mischievousness. He drew his fingers across his lips to sign that they were shut tight, before raising an expectant eyebrow in your direction. 

_That worked?_

Honestly, you were at a loss for words when he actually remained silent, but the sight of him beneath you, playing by _your_ rules, was enough for your body to react in a way that your heart picked up in pace. This man was going to be your downfall, you just knew it. However, as you stayed silent, actively listening for the creaking of the floorboards that signified your sister or father walking down the hall (thank goodness your door naturally locked from the inside when you closed it), you soon relaxed. It was clear. A sigh escaped you.

As you turned your attention back to the man beneath you, a shiver of overwhelming desire suddenly running up your spine. Leaning closer until it was impossible to do it further, you brushed your lips against his with ease word that fled from your mouth. “Hush.” Despite his prior agreement, you gently pressed your lips to his own chapped ones, molding them perfectly in the spaces of his own, the action alone causing your belly to clench with a sharp white hot spike of _want._

“And maybe if you’re a good boy,” you grasped his larger hands in yours and led them to be positioned at the sides of his head, “I’ll let you touch me.” You gave a small nip, albeit far softer than his usually were, your hands slipping forward to find purchase atop the spaces just at the sides of his neck, your body now lifted to hover over his. 

_It was your turn now._

Slowly, you moved to press your lips to the corner of his own, peppering down a trail to his jaw, and then his neck to his jugular, which only pulsed in time with his heartbeat. With this newfound power (the power of _knowing_ that he couldn’t hurt you, especially in this state), you tested the boundaries by beginning to suck on the skin there, pulling it into your mouth and letting your tongue lather it with a toughness with a single goal in mind. Two times he had bruised your neck, two times he had given you something to hide.

Two times.

So you continued to suck on a spot that you knew was highly visible until you became satisfied with the complexion change; the rawness that would no doubt bloom into a bruise.

“You don’t know the struggle of trying to cover your own neck up within the spring. Scarves aren’t worn, now.” You muttered beneath his chin. “At least you’re not a star on the picture show,” your eyes fell to the other side of his neck, before your lips brushed against it. “Should be easier to make excuses to passerbyers. I don’t know how many I made before I was forced to stay inside and let it heal.” 

You continued to kiss and suckle on a single spot until you were once again content with the view. “Rough housing with Ruth, reprimanding from my father - that one was one that caused a lot of gentlemen to question my safety. There was even one that offered to come by and have a ‘word’ with him.” You lifted your head to peer down at him with a mischievous glint. “No one ever suspects a young woman to be the one to be involved in such…” your lips quirked. 

“Rebellious affairs.” A sultry whisper.

You knew exactly what you were doing. You could practically see how your ability to talk was messing with him while he lay silent. “Of course I said no,” you leaned back. “‘It’s alright, sir! Really, I best be off. I have quite the list to complete.’” You recalled. “He was very polite. Good _husband_ material.” 

Now you were just trying to make him jealous. 

The amount of joy and satisfaction you were taking from his expressions was ridiculous, and you couldn’t help a small snicker escape you. “Oh, you don’t like that.” You leaned down again, brushing your lips over his with a small hum. “Are you getting jealous, Alastor? Maybe a bit…” your eyes flickered over to his hands. 

“Restless?” Your eyes were crinkled with heated amusement. 

Brushing your nose across his, you leaned up to press a kiss to his forehead. “Relax.” Afterall, you weren’t trying to make him angry. 

“Nothing happened. He was off in a jiffy after that. Had a train to catch, I guess. Didn’t really stick around to find out the details.” A pause, and you felt yourself growing serious. “The point is, I had the chance to change my life at that moment. I had the chance to be someone else, perhaps even adopt a different last name, become a housewife with a handful of children. Have the life that my mother always wanted for me. Only the best.” 

You made a face. You and Alastor both knew that life wasn’t for you.

“But I didn’t.”

You were gradually explaining yourself to him, your feelings, desires, anguish, discontentment, anxiety, everything in the heat of the moment. It hadn’t been on your bucket list, but you supposed these things never were. 

“... Do you know why?” 

You moved your body down his, leaving little room for the chance to talk as you curled your dainty fingers in the hem of his briefs; his pants having been discarded in the night. “It’s not because I belong to you. I don’t belong to _anyone.”_

You pulled them down and gingerly took his length in your hand, giving a few strokes to appease him just a bit. “It’s because,” you let him go and repositioned yourself so you straddled his hips, rolling your own so his cock slid through your folds. “Mm… I _chose_ to be yours. I chose to go down that boulevard that day, I chose to stick around for a conversation despite running late, I, ah, chose to let you take me around for a stroll.” 

Raising your hips, you led him to your entrance and slowly lowered yourself atop him, a heated gasp escaping your lips as you forced your muscles to relax, despite them instinctively wanting to constrict. “I chose to let you kiss the back of my hand.” An inch. “I... mn… chose to let you show me how to dance.” Another inch. “I chose to let you kiss my cheek.” Another. “I chose to let you in my house.” Another. Your hands were gripping his hips as you steadied yourself. 

“I chose to help you.” Another. “I chose to make love to you.” Your walls fluttered as you let a soft whisper of a moan escape your lips, quiet. “B-But I didn’t choose to fall in love with you.” You finally stopped, your heart hammering in your chest as you looked at him. “Ah, I didn’t choose t-to shackle you to me by having this baby.” You looked down to your belly, a soft sigh of pleasure escaping you amidst all of your emotion. 

You hadn’t realized your vision had begun to blur until a stray tear rolled down your cheek. Cautiously, you brought your finger up to trail across just south of your belly button, before laying your hand flat there. “I’m sorry.” You whispered, voice cracking. And for a second, you forgot you were intimately connected with Alastor. You felt the overwhelming sense of the need to _protect_ as it grew inside you. 

But you also felt guilty.

You hesitated before looking up to meet Alastor’s gaze. “I get it if you don’t want to stay. I get it if you want to chase after that stardom, because you…” your hands were gentle against him now. “You are so talented, Al. You have your entire life ahead of you and _god,_ if I had the chance to run from this provincial life, I would be gone too. I wouldn’t think twice.” You laughed humorlessly. “You know me.”

It was becoming very apparent that, in your early stages of pregnancy at least, your hormones were out of this world. The hell was this? You didn’t sign up for this (except you kinda did when you fucked the guy). Fuck pregnancy. God, you hated him for being so confusing. You hated him for getting you knocked up. But you loved him. Oh, how you adored him. You felt yourself growing frustrated. 

You hated feeling so… helpless and needy. You hated bringing this up constantly, especially in intimate moments like these. You hated feeling like you were going in circles; chasing your tail like some _dog._

Despite the fact that you were still so intimately fused, Alastor did his best to listen to what you were saying to him. He knew you were an emotional creature, even before the pregnancy hormones had come into play, you were easily stirred to some passionate state. It was, after all, one of the many reasons why he felt himself drawn to you, the endless possibilities you could provide amidst the endless humdrum these years had ushered in. 

The surprise had been his own stirring emotions. While he was usually more than happy to indulge in your need to talk out your problems, particularly when his ego was stroked at the same time, there was the undeniable fact that _he_ was also caught up in the middle of this. He couldn’t argue that your thoughts were misplaced; you were correct in thinking that he might have an easier time socially with the scrutiny that would come with an unplanned pregnancy. 

However, between the implications that came with the colour of his skin and the fact that you two were, as far as the nosy-bodies could tell, both unattached, Alastor felt a trace of wariness at the unpredictability that situation brought. He coveted the stability that a _plan_ offered; he was a hunter in its truest definition and prided himself on having back up plans to any and all of his on-goings. It would take some work and perhaps a few late nights, but he was certain there was a solution at hand…

Your current state would be of no help, however, no matter how brilliant his mind. The first task, it would seem, was to be to help you calm down.

Unsure of whether his actions would actually do any good, but driven to try, he raised one hand and laid it over your own that still rested against the soft skin of your belly. It dwarfed yours, comically so, but he gently squeezed until he felt your body release a shudder - one he doubted even you knew you were holding back - and tried his best to focus on you, in spite of the way your inner muscles twitched around his length when you moved. 

He sighed your name then and hoped that his tone masked his own growing confusion. 

“Darling,” Alastor’s brow creased, but his hand remained steady and warm upon your own. “You won’t be facing this alone. I have no intention of leaving you or our child to the cruelty of the streets.”

Your mind was in a whirlwind of emotions, fueled by your imagination with scenarios of everything that could possibly go wrong. What on earth would your father do? He was a good man, but he was stern when it came to certain situations, and while you could most likely get away with just saying you had gained a few pounds, the tell-tale sign would soon make its presence known. You couldn’t keep it away from him forever. How would Ruth react? How would this affect her? Oh you were sure your mother was rolling in her grave right now.

Despite being surrounded by family, you never felt so alone.

It was all hitting you now. The terror, the uncertainty, the confusion, the hatred for having to even _be_ afraid of this ruining your life. How cruel was society to do such a thing? For no one to step up and say that such a thing was wrong? Free will. Yeah right. You were chained down by societal standards, and while you agreed with some of them simply because you couldn’t imagine them being any different, this was one that was going to not only affect you, but your entire immediate family as well. 

What about Alastor? How would this affect him? If he had any family, what about them? 

Your gaze did not fall from your belly as he pressed his hand atop yours, applying pressure and warmth to where there had originally been none.

You would have been lying if you said you hadn’t imagined him touching you in similar manners, to simply feel his presence against you, feel his lips ghost over your pulse and yes, while it was all so wonderful when it actually happened, all you could focus on now was the fact that the two of you had created something. _Someone._ Was this what the hand of God felt like? To create something so innocent, birthed from the flames of desires and passion.

How wonderful. How strange. How terrifying.

Unlike Alastor, you never did make plans other than those for things like outings and whatnot, a person who generally lived in the moment. But this - you wished you had a plan for this. “Are you afraid?” You whispered, your eyebrows furrowed as you looked at his hand as if it was the most interesting thing in the world. Fear. How did Alastor react to fear when he was the maker of fear himself? It sounded wholly ridiculous, but in that moment, you were entirely serious. Was it alright to be scared? 

Sliding your hand from beneath his own, you gave a shuddering breath at the moment you moved, the feeling foreign yet so familiar as he slid out of you just a bit as you moved up to press your forehead against his. It was a bit comical in nature to have such a serious talk in such an intimate moment, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do anything more than that. You both needed to do a bit of soul searching within the other. “Al,” you breathed his name softly, emotion causing your voice to crack.

“I’m so scared.”

Beneath you, Alastor’s form froze; the flat muscles in his belly quivered ever so slightly as you changed your position, but the way you sighed his name undoubtedly captured his entire attention. 

It was with the sound of the rising thump of his heart in his own ears that brought upon him the realization that his anxiety was in fact twinged with the slightest ounce of fear, the feeling gripping at the base of his head and beginning to send a thrill down his spine.

It was something he was wholly unaccustomed to, his body seemingly responding in kind. Goosebumps rose on his skin and his pupils dilated. If either one of you had been in the right mind frame, it would have been noted that he softened ever so slightly in spite of still being tucked inside of you. 

“I’m terrified.” It surprised even him to hear the words spoken aloud, although just barely. They seemed to tumble from his lips and hang tauntingly in the air between the two of you. 

It was comforting to know that even Alastor had the ability to experience something so primal and natural as fear; it was a reminder that the two of you were only human, that you did make mistakes, that you could learn from them and move on. 

But it was also an anchor in these dangerous seas, his entire persona a siren’s song that lured you into a delusion of safety.

You remained unaware that he was the creature that went bump in the night, taking his prey within the darkness of New Orleans - and perhaps it was best for it to stay that way. It was easier for your sensitivities to come to terms that he hunted for sport rather than committed murder.

But that was self-explainable. 

“You’re terrified,” you repeated softly, questioning almost as if you were uncertain if you had heard him right.

For one reason or another, he didn’t seem like the type of man to get scared of the unknown, but the more you got to know him, the more he unveiled, and the more it began to make sense. He was a creature of habit, nothing more, nothing less. You, however, were someone who was affectionate, someone who touched to get a point across, or to comfort another, and while the two of you had been hands-on for the past few hours, you knew his preferences.

You knew his desires.

And then you had an idea.

“Can we try something?” 

He remained silent, instead simply arching an eyebrow, trying his hardest to keep the newfound emotional turmoil hidden beneath his surface. 

“One sec.” 

With that said, you moved to sit back up, escaping that intoxicating, beautifully intimate position. Your body immediately anguished the loss of fullness, before you peeled the make-shift fort back (which, albeit, was just your blankets), and hopped off of the bed. For a moment, you remained still as your vision adjusted to the onslaught of light, before you narrowed your gaze onto the item. 

“See,” you knelt down to grab the discarded belt on the floor before turning around to look at him. “I know you don’t like being touched. I want you to trust me, because if this is going to work, we need to trust each other. Even if it’s with things as mundane as this.” You walked back over to your bed, and, just as quickly as you had gotten off of him, you straddled him once more, your arousal aiding his return into you. 

A soft sigh of pleasure escaped you at that.

“So here,” you offered him the belt. “Tie my hands up so I can’t touch you during this. Because I want you to be comfortable.” Because you cared about him, and while you didn’t have a god damn clue what you were doing, and you were looking for a needle in a haystack amidst a thousand other problems, you supposed that working on one of the more prominent ones could help the two of you. 

But then again, what did you know?

Alastor stared at you, eyes still blown out but now for a slightly different reason. His body language shifted as you straddled him then, his focus returning to you sharply as your bodies joined together again, pulling him quickly back to the present moment rather than continuing in a spiral of anxiety. 

He gently lifted his hands to take the belt from your own as though being careful not to spook you, should you decide to retract your offer and run.

Continuing in the same delicate matter, he wound the belt around your wrists - he had been pleased to see you raise them in offering without any suggestion from him, the genuine intent behind your words becoming clear. When he was happy with the pressure the strap was applied with, just enough to keep you secure without leaving marks (a speciality of his that he had honed in less than desirable ways), he trailed a hand up to tangle in your hair. 

The way he breathed your name, as though he were speaking to some Goddess upon her throne, caused your core to clench in a way that made him respond in kind with a soft grunt of his own. You were a truly alluring sight, one that pulled at the deep, dark need that he secretly housed, the urge to corrupt and manipulate to his benefit while enjoying having you at his mercy. 

It was as if some fire had been lit in his belly and with a steady yet tender tug on your tresses, he urged your body to begin moving on top of him. 

You had been thrown for a loop when you met the man, that was for damn sure. Even now, when you thought you knew him, understood him, he still managed to pull the wool over your eyes and usher you into that safe security that gave you some peace of mind. It was moments like these, you supposed, that caused you to remember exactly _why_ you adored him. The gentleness that lie under the jagged mess of his outwardly disposition, the uncertainty and inexperienced jumble of motions that made him so much more alluring to you. 

He had his charm, yes, but besides that, you couldn’t have said you fell for anything other than _him_ as a person. Love was such a fickle thing, especially nowadays when wealth often spoke wonders. 

But this was rich, this was the life you wanted to live, where it was just the two of you and, for the moment, nothing else mattered. 

It was what caused your hands, still bound, to come to rest on his stomach only to steady yourself as you gently rolled your hips. A small whine escaped you as you felt that slight sting of him splitting you open, a soft gasp escaping your lips. Perhaps in time your body would accommodate his intrusion better, but that sting was addicting each and every time you felt him inside you. 

Your hips were only rocking into him, just starting out, but that didn’t stop the filth that had begun to leave your lips, ushering the two of you into that make believe world of carnal pleasure. “You feel so good,” your voice was soft, a whisper as you attempted to be quiet. “You stretch me,” you bit your bottom lip and leaned your head subconsciously into the hand that was rooted in your hair, “so good.”

Your movements were barely noticeable, but you wanted to keep him to yourself, perhaps selfishly, for as long as you could. 

Alastor grunted at your words, the sultry edge to your whisper prickling at his ears in a tantalizing way. His fingers twitched ever so slightly when he felt you lean against him but he was too caught up in watching the taut muscles of your body shift as you tried to steady yourself above him, your movements captivating him in a way he had never experienced with another. 

That fierce feeling of possessiveness came rushing back, steady beneath the thundering of his pulse and the sheen of sweat breaking out on his forehead as he resisted driving himself upwards into your waiting heat. He knew this particular exercise in trust between you was meant not only to show him your intentions were true, but to see if he could restrain his less than gentle tendencies. While you did not know the full horror he was capable of, you had caught enough glimpses into his character to know he had a penchant for violence and force when he felt it was needed. 

So, naturally, you tested it.

Rolling your hips with a bit more force behind it, though only once, you looked down at him with a particularly curious expression. “Penny for ah, your thoughts?”

“You’re magnificent.” He murmured, hand pushing against the back of your head in a way that encouraged you to lean into him, his lips coming to meet yours, putting as much unspoken emotion into it as he was able to. 

His mouth was soft against yours for the briefest of moments before his need for urgency took the better of his thoughts, and he darted his tongue out to swipe your bottom lip, seeking entrance. 

But oh, you weren’t holy. You were prideful, you were selfish when it came to him, and because of that, you simply kept your lips sealed, of course, only until a grin betrayed your giddiness. Letting your forehead rest against his, your words left your lips as they brushed against his own. “Maybe if you tell me more.” You whispered lightly, a gentle puff of breath cooling his heated face while yours remained hot and uncomfortable. 

“Maybe then I’ll let you do whatever you want to me.”

Because let’s face it, as much as you liked holding the power over him, you had no fucking clue what you were doing. Still, you were pretty good at dirty talking. “Would you like that?”

He gave you a small nip to your bottom lip, a warning that your cheek was being permitted by his choice, simply because you were so deliciously entertaining like this. 

Your flushed face and the slight heave of your chest gave your nerves away and in that moment, Alastor decided that no one else would do for him until his very end; he was more than happy to indulge your whims if it meant you gifted him with that smile of yours.

He still felt the pull to leave his mark on you, but less and less the vision of you lifeless before him remained in his mind’s eye. Instead, it was filled with the image of you swollen with _his_ child, body writhing below him as you sang your praise of him. 

“I’m not sure I’ve met anyone like you before, darling.” He whispered the words, aware that you were not conscious of the true implications of that statement. “You seized my attention from the very moment I saw you, inflamed my mind with nothing but thoughts of you…” 

Ever the optimist, he pressed his mouth firmly to yours once more, pressing his luck to see if you would accept him yet.   
  


There was a second of silence as you processed his words, the words that made you feel like you were melting and reforming all at the same time, your heart rate increasing to the point of it almost being dangerous. You weren’t sure of the word, but the blush that coated your cheeks was enough of a reaction from you that it even surprised yourself; that white hot pang of pleasure centering in your belly as you gifted him a gentle kiss of your own, just before a grin broke out over your face. 

_He thought of you._

“God, that sounds so cliche.” You snorted before losing your ability to refrain from laughing. “I’m sorry, I’m not laughing—“ you paused as a giggle escaped you, “at you, I’m laughing because it sounds like you pulled that out of a novel.” Your laughter faded after a moment, and once you gained some stability in the absolute wreck that was yourself, you firmly pressed your lips to his. 

“But I guess that just shows,” your voice was light again as you started to roll your hips just a bit faster to elicit some sort of reaction out of him, “Just how sweet you are.” The sudden desire to touch him nearly overwhelmed you in that moment, but when you tried, you were reminded of the bonding around your wrists. So instead you rested yourself on him, your arms holding you up as you spread your thighs further apart just to feel him slipping in and out of you that much more. 

You no longer were rocking into him, but instead lowering and raising yourself off of him slowly. 

“Cruel woman,” He managed to ground out, fighting to remain in possession of his ability to talk. “Mocking a man for being educated…”

Alastor was, if anything, a master at reading the body language of those around him. It was how he chose his victims, watching to see who had the most potential, who was most likely to go along with his whims. Now, with your body tensing against the urge to move more against him, he could tell you were close to the edge of your own control. 

And how he wanted to see you give in, to explore the more animalistic side to your own desires. He moved the hand from your hair to instead come to rest just below the swell of your bum, calloused palm warm against the sensitive skin there. With just enough pressure to set your pace a bit more, he gave your flesh an appreciative squeeze as you almost unconsciously took to the task; his eyes greedily watching the ways in which you began to move in order to adjust to his size. 

The muscles in your neck grew weak as you were finally forced to either let your head hang or rest it on his forehead - you chose the latter, that way you could look at him, kiss him, in a way you couldn’t if you hadn’t. Finally, you let out a gasp against his lips, before gritting your teeth in the silent desire to say something that you just couldn’t bring to mind.

“I want to hear you beg.” 

You hadn’t even realized what you had said until it was done, but in the rush of the pleasure that was traveling up and down your spine with each time you lowered yourself onto him, you cared less and less about how ‘unlady-like’ your words were. “A-ah… Alastor…” you whined hotly into his mouth, your cheeks deep in hue as you struggled to take in enough oxygen. “I want you…” you trailed off as if the thought had escaped you. “I want you to make me yours.” 

You grazed your teeth on his lip, before soothing it with your tongue. “I want to make you mine.” 

Your words hit his ego just right and in that moment, Alastor gathered you in his lean but strong arms so he could better position you against him. Both of his hands now cradled your hips to him, and it was with a sharp tilt and snap of his hips that he began meeting your thrusts. He used his hands to help you lift and then to guide you back down, as though you weighed little more than a feather. 

He sighed your name against your mouth, which had fallen open slightly as he began moving in earnest, the creaking of the bed causing sparks of pleasure to travel from your toes, to your thighs, and then your core. 

At your small gasp, he couldn’t bite back the grin that split across his face and he turned instead to bury his face against your sweaty neck, as though he could hide the effect you had on him and retain more of his control for longer. The now familiar pressure was beginning to build in his gut and a tingle had settled in his limbs that told him he was rushing towards his finish. He was determined to take you with him. 

Happy with the pace you were able to maintain against his own, Alastor shifted so he could cup the soft curve of one breast, thumb brushing ever so lightly against the nipple. When your hips faltered, he nipped your neck in warning and moved to palm your hips with some bruising strength he had not yet shown you. 

The muscles in your neck corded with your effort and he hummed in appreciation, rewarding you with a particularly deep thrust; your conjoined bodies were offering the most sinfully lewd noises and the tight coil of pleasure was steadily building in your core. As though from some far off place, you were vaguely aware of the continued creaking of your bedsprings, the headboard now bumping against the wall with increasing volatility. It did nothing to stop either of you from chasing that high of pleasure together, bodies seeming to move in sync. 

As Alastor began to feel his completion washing over him, muscles in his lower belly and thighs beginning to quiver, he quickly moved a hand to the spot between your legs he knew would be oversensitive and swollen. His swift fingers circled your clit with just the right amount of pressure to send you tumbling over the edge, your orgasm ripping from your body, and there was little you could do but bear down and grind on his lap. 

The quaking of your inner walls, coupled with the slick now obscenely dripping from where you were connected, only helped to further ease his thrusting. 

The ball of tension snapped in his gut and with a loud groan, he emptied himself into your warmth. His mouth latched firmly to the crook of your neck and his blunt teeth scraped the sensitive spot where your shoulder met your collarbone, his lips working to leave marks there. He gave a few more shallow thrusts before slowing to a stop, body quivering and shaking as he came down from his high. 

With your own head now resting on his shoulder, tilted to allow such rough nicks and kisses of affection, you had barely realized that you had, in midst of your passion, drooled down his body. With your wits slowly coming back to you, you shakily tried to pick yourself up as you felt him undo the binds on your wrists, but failed miserably and collapsed right back into him. 

And then the sound of feet running down the hall made you freeze, the distant voice (just outside your door) of a child yelling from across the house:

“DADDY, WHY IS THE HOUSE MAKING NOISES!?”

The pitter patter of feet left just as quickly as it arrived, and you mumbled out a,

“Ruth…” 

You inhaled a great bout of breath, suddenly overcome with the desire to just stay in his hold for as long as possible. “Door is locked,” you murmured lazily, before turning your head to press your lips to his neck. There was no one getting in. Needless to say, it was enough of a wake up call to begin to come back to reality. Begin to. You didn’t really want to move.

The booming voice of your father rang out sharply, making you jerk in surprise and causing Alastor to slip from your body. Even with the pounding of your pulse in your ears, you could pick up the sound of his shoes on the steps of the stairs. Panic bloomed in your chest, white hot, and without thinking you leapt from your spot on the bed, energy returning in a rush of adrenaline. 

You scooped up Alastor’s pants from their resting spot on the floor and whipped them at his head, causing them to land haphazardly on his mussed hair. 

“Go!” You whisper-screeched at him. You pointed at the window and, without waiting, grabbed his arm and forced him to his feet. 

“Meet me at the front door in twenty. Goodbye. Get out.” 

You threw his shoes out so they landed on the yard for good measure. With a quick kiss to his lips (which were parted as though he wished to argue), you gave him one last shove to move him out to where the ladder still rested. You slammed the window shut and drew your curtains just as you heard your father’s hand land on your door handle. 

He gave it a jiggle and, finding it locked, knocked instead.

“Indecent! One sec, daddy! I just took a shower!” You lied. Well, half-lied.

“Breakfast is ready when you are, pumpkin.” The sound of his feet moving off down the stairs again reached you and you sagged to your bed to quickly hide your face in your pillow and _squeal_ like some school girl. 

“Fuck,” you muttered out loud and then urged your feet to carry you into the bathroom. You could at least freshen up before your ‘guest’ arrived. 

You couldn’t say the same about him, though.


	6. An Offer To Refuse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> do I even need to put an explicit sexual content warning anymore?

Alastor watched as your silhouette disappeared from view behind your curtain. He took a moment to breathe deeply, rolling his shoulders as though to shrug off the feeling of anticipation that had settled under his skin. Once the tension in his muscles had dissipated, he moved to the ledge and eyed the ladder. With all of his usual grace and charm, he grabbed a hold of it and smoothly slid down. 

His feet were still only clad in his socks which helped him land quietly, jumping from the last rung to the roof of the shed with lithe grace. He eased himself off the shed and, casting a look back at the house to make sure no one had spotted him, swiftly grabbed his slacks and shoes.

Getting dressed next to a patch of blooming foxglove was certainly divergent from his average morning routine, but Alastor couldn’t deny that it was another prime example of why you belonged in his life. 

Who else would have kicked him out so unceremoniously but you? Your duality of fiery spirit and newfound sensuality was a heady mixture and Alastor knew he simply had to have more.  


And then if that meant entertaining your silly notions from time to time, then so be it.  


For this reason, he straightened his shirt as best he could, although he lamented the fact his bow tie seemed to have been lost in the panic. He felt a bit under dressed without it, considering he had a feeling he knew what was awaiting him behind your front door. 

Alastor paused just before the large front porch, cursing that he didn’t have access to a proper mirror; he was sure he still had blood perhaps dried in some places and his hair was a flop of messy curls, evidence of your shared morning experience. Not to mention, he was without glasses still. It irked him to feel so under prepared for this social call; however, he knew his time was quickly running out so he settled for raking his fingers through his hair to try and style it down and plastered his trademark smile on his face. 

He picked a cluster of flowers from the large, blood red azalea bush growing next to the steps and tucked one in the breast pocket of his blazer for good measure. The rest he manipulated into a small delicate bouquet and then raised a hand to knock on your front door. 

Needless to say, you rushing down the hall and practically jumping off five steps (a feat that you could have very well completed in your youth but now only served for your father to look up at you with wide eyes and Ruth to giggle) was never a way to start a morning. Though, you had already had your start to your morning, hadn’t you? Dressed in a collared button-down, long sleeved lace shirt and a bell bottom pair of pants, you had managed to have enough time to wet your hair to of course continue with your lie, and then dry it with two minutes left on the clock. Skidding into the kitchen, you pressed your lips to your father’s cheek and...

“What are we rushing for?”

“I have someone coming over for Ruth. Hope you don’t mind, daddy!”

You paused to gauge his expression which, of course, looked a bit less than pleased, but he didn’t further his comment. Just as the first knock resounded, you grabbed hold of the knob and opened the door with a flourish; one hand out and motioning towards your sibling and father while the other gripped the door with an anxiety that you barely noticed amidst the adrenaline coursing through your veins. 

“Welcome to my humble abode!” Your heartbeat was loud in your ears as you frantically met Alastor’s gaze. You opened your mouth to say something further, but the words died in your throat at the mess that he was. “Uh, one sec.” 

You snuck out the door and closed it before your family had the chance to see the disaster that was Alastor. He didn’t really look that bad, but first impressions mattered, okay? This was your  _ dad.  _ When you heard the click of the door, you immediately pushed your sleeve into the palm of your hand and reached up to start to wipe off the remainers of blood on his face.

And then you had to tame the beast that was his hair. If you had to do it, you would. It was driving you insane. 

“You have sticks and leaves in your hair, by the way. Can I? Just- let me…” 

Reaching up before he could respond, you began to run your fingers through his hair to dislodge the contents, the tip of your tongue sticking out as you concentrated on making him semi-decent. “Okay, there. Done. Handsome as ever.”

Not really, but it didn’t hurt to stroke his ego.

Now that you were at least content with how he looked, you were able to focus on the impending doom that lay just on the other side of that door. “Are you okay?” The question could have been referring to whether or not he felt okay to go inside, or the fact that you had basically pushed him out of a window. 

Alastor caught your hand up in his own, the other waving the quaint bouquet around with his usual airy flair. 

“Never better, darling!” His tone held a slight coy edge. “This is a keen plot twist to our morning!” He held out the flowers for you to take and made an obvious show of leaning forward for a kiss like the child he was.

Just before his lips could properly fit to yours, he stopped short and whispered softly, “Are you ready to tell them who you really call daddy?”

He would give into your whims, true enough, as he allowed you to continue to help him understand the course of this relationship. That said, your reactions to his goading were too delicious to pass up the opportunity to rile you up a bit. 

You gawked. 

Every single word or phrase that could have been a perfectly good response died in your throat as you stared up at him with wide, disbelieving eyes. That stupid grin he wore made it even worse, and your cheeks began to warm from the flirtatious quip. Slowly, you took the flowers out of his hand and, not being one to ever back down from a challenge, your lips curled into an innocent smile. 

“Only if you call me mommy.” 

That tiny smile grew into a mischievous one very quickly, and you reached up with your hand and grabbed his already messy collar to yank him down to your lips. When you pulled back, a snicker fell from you. “Thank you for the flowers.”

You weren’t going to question where he got them.

As you turned then towards the door, you offered him a side glance as if to make sure he  _ behaved  _ and mentally prepared yourself for disaster. Taking a deep breath, you turned the knob and opened the door. 

“Daddy, I want you to meet Alastor, he—”

The sound of a loud gasp cut you off as Ruth practically flipped off her chair to scamper over. Her eyes were twinkling. 

“HELLO! What are you doing here!? I thought she was going to bring my tutor over and that’s just really boring but you are so much better!” 

You winced, before offering an apologetic look to Alastor. Though, you supposed he was already well accustomed to her inability to have an inside voice. 

“... I brought him over so he could uh,” you blanked, and then you began to panic when you saw your father’s expression. “Um, ha ha, so he could spend some time with his one and only number one fan…” Drum roll, please! “Ruth!” You wildly motioned towards her, ignoring the funny face she gave you. 

Another gasp, louder this time.

“DOES THIS MEAN I GET TO KEEP YOU?”

You whipped your attention back to Ruth. 

“No.” You said immediately, a wave of possessiveness falling over you before you snapped out of it. “No… How about we instead eat breakfast before it gets cold, huh?” You placed your hand on Ruth’s back and led her to the table again amidst her pouting. 

“Can he sit next to me?” She swung her feet as she sat down.

“Why don’t you ask him?” You murmured, shooting Alastor a glance that screamed  _ help me  _ over your shoulder. Oh, your poor father looked like he wasn’t sure  _ what  _ to do. After all, you had let a complete stranger (to his knowledge) into the house.

The man in question had been watching you fumble over your excuse with mild amusement; however, at seeing your father's less than impressed look and your sister's shining, exuberant face, he took pity and decided to play his part after all. 

He gave Ruth a small bow and then turned to address your father properly, 

"Well now, I'd be delighted to little darling! If it isn't imposing too much on your morning, sir?" 

Your father stood then to his full height and gave Alastor a hard look up and down. His lips twitched slightly before he turned his eyes to see both his daughters looking at him rather expectantly. Bother… he never could say no to either one of you, no matter the strangeness of this sudden soiree. 

"Not at all, son." Your father offered his hand to Alastor, who immediately took in his own firm shake and introduced himself. 

"He's the radio man, daddy!" Ruth was bouncing on the balls of her feet, too excited to remember that this fact was already established. 

"Ah yes," Your father said, breaking the odd tension by motioning for everyone to sit down. "I read about your latest show in the paper, quite the talent you have, young man." 

Alastor dipped his head and chuckled in an all too charming manner, "Nothing to talent but hard work, sir." He caught your eye and gave you a wink as though to make sure you were in on his game. 

He knew how to talk up those he needed to impress and some small part of him was thrilled at the idea of the task of impressing your father. 

If you didn’t need to keep up the persona of being calm, you would have let yourself make a bigger show of how nervous you actually were. Your hands were clammy, and your face still had the remainders of being flushed red at not only the comment he had made earlier, but at the thought of what the two of you had done before this. Still though, you managed.

“I don’t have any doubt about that,” you eased into the conversation yourself as you walked over to the sink to fill a vase up with water. Setting the flowers into it, you placed it atop the sill where it would get sunlight before turning back around, your fingers interlaced with each other. “But talent still has to do with it. You are not lacking in that department, Mr. Alastor.”

Or any other department. 

Your eyes were soft as you looked at him, but after a moment, you caught yourself staring for a bit  _ too  _ long and cleared your throat. “Well, I’m starving! Thanks for making breakfast, daddy. It looks wonderful.” You turned your attention to the waffles, pancakes, and eggs in the center of the table, the steam still coming off of them; syrup just off to the right. 

It made you feel warm. This didn’t happen often. 

Alastor watched you from the corner of his eye, easily catching the pretty blush on your face and the gentle look in your eyes. It made some part of him stir, to know that look was for him and only him. He would have to have some fun and exploit that particular fact later on…

"Yes, thank you again for pardoning my intrusion this morning, sir." Alastor hitched his most charming smile to his lips; beside him, Ruth gave a soft gasp as though fully memorized by his charm. "It's a fine meal!" 

Needless to say, it didn’t take much longer for everyone to be seated; Alastor sat between you and Ruth, while your father sat across from him. There was  _ something  _ about this whole endeavor though that didn’t feel quite right, but you marked it up as simply your nerves.  


Eventually, you began to slowly forget your anxieties and the four of you ate and filled your bellies with the family recipes. Each bite was better than the last, and once you finished, you anguished the fact that there wasn’t more. They had been recipes passed on for generations, and you had yet to taste anything quite as good.

Eventually, your father cleared his throat and gathered the attention of the individuals in the vicinity; placing his fork down with a  _ clink.  _ “I’m sure you know, girls, that I don’t do this very often. Especially now that I’m so busy, but that’s besides the point. I wanted to make a small announcement, as I’ll only be getting busier.” There was a pause and you furrowed your brows at the excitement in his eyes.

“I’ve been offered a job that pays far more than what I’ve made currently and in my past.” 

A grin lit up your face. “No way! Dad, that’s amazing!” 

“Wow!” Ruth chimed in.

“So it’s around here, then? How did they contact you? What did they say?” You leaned closer, his excitement contagious until… it wasn’t. You watched with gradual confusion and concern as he rubbed the back of his neck and readjusted his reading glasses that he hadn’t even been using - a quirk he always seemed to have.

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. The job isn’t here.”

You paused, leaning back. “Not here? You mean in this neighborhood?”

He shook his head. “No, pumpkin. It’s not in this state. It’s in Mississippi.” 

Your fork dropped onto the plate with a clatter, your attention unwavering as you closed your mouth. In Mississippi. It was in Mississippi. Which meant you would have to move. Your father didn’t seem that repulsed by such a notion - he had lost his wife and it would have been good to get out of a place he had been for over fifty years. 

Except, he didn’t know. He was clueless. In your panic, you quickly looked at Alastor with wide eyes before laughing in disbelief as you turned back to your father. “You’re joking, right? You’re not serious? Because if you are, you got me good. Ha-ha!” 

His expression was unwavering, and that was when you scored out your seat and rested your palms on the table. 

“Daddy, with all due respect,” you took a deep breath, “ _ have you lost your mind?”  _ It was the first time you had actually seen his eyes harden, and while you felt a lick of fear, you continued on. “We  _ can’t  _ move!”

He leaned back into his chair and crossed his arms. “Why not?”

You sputtered out: “B-because!” Your voice raised slightly. “This is the place I’ve lived at for my entire life! What about Ruth? Huh? She’s lived here her entire life, too! Can’t you find another job? I’m sure there’s well-paying ones in New Orleans! I’m sure Alastor could find you something, right Al?” 

Your eyes didn’t even have the chance to find his before you were back to hashing it out.  


“This is all we have left of  _ mom!” _

And that was when your father said your name with a sternness that you couldn’t replicate in your worst nightmares. It was a warning. You remained still, searching, looking in his gaze,  _ praying  _ that he would have a change of heart because he didn’t know what you knew. What you and Alastor knew. 

But he didn’t budge.

You straightened yourself out and, with a small ‘excuse me’, you turned and walked straight out the door. The moment that you did, you walked down one step and collapsed into a seated position upon it. Your hands wound their way through your hair and rooted into your locks, a strained yell escaping you - so very unlady like and even attracting a few stares, but you didn’t care.

You couldn’t bring yourself to care. 

The front door slammed with a cutting finality and the table settled in silence. Alastor blinked after where you had disappeared from sight, torn between his instinct to follow you and the awareness that he was still under the close scrutiny of your father and even your sister. 

Your father seemed to be lost in thought, pensive thinking clearly a family trait. Alastor caught Ruth's eye but she merely shrugged, looking forlorn herself.

After another moment, Alastor cleared his throat, "I'll go check on her..." and knowing he wouldn't get much in response, quietly excused himself and his long legs carried him the short distance to the front step. 

He had heard your strained yell and wasn't sure how he would find you; seeing your slumped form, pretty face hidden away in your hands, merely stoked the fire of possessiveness inside of him. 

Alastor went to open his mouth to speak to you, but for once the words did not seem to come. Admittedly, he was rather shocked by the revelation as well. The very thought that you and the little one growing in your belly would be carted off to the next state - the icy grip of anxiety came back to dig at the corners of his ire. 

The pregnancy was still new to the pair of you, in fact it seemed the two of you had barely had time to accept your new responsibility let alone have time to devise a plan around it. And now in a moment when he most needed it, his brilliance seemed to have taken a back seat to the churning in his gut. 

He couldn't allow it. That was the only thought his frenzied mind seemed to be able to focus on; every thud of his pulse in his ear echoing the words  **_mine_ ** in his head. For all his worldly experience, the solution seemed clear but the fact remained there were several obstacles in his way from reaching that goal...

He called your name softly, not wishing to disturb you given your emotional state (stress was no good for a growing child either) but when you didn't answer he sighed and moved to sit next to you. 

The old wood of the step gave a slight groan as his frame came to rest huddled close enough that your elbows brushed. He desperately wanted to touch you, but he knew given the public setting he would have to obey societal rules. For all intents and purposes to the outside world, you were still a young, unattached woman. 

It was quite the sight, especially given the height difference. Alastor drew his long legs up neatly and merely watched a few strangers as they wondered up and down the street.

A few people cast nervous glances back over their shoulders, perhaps wondering why such a disheveled looking Creole man was perched next to a clearly distraught white woman; nerves churned his gut again but Alastor could do nothing but meet the gazes of any blue-nose that stared longer than necessary, sure that the steely glint in his eye would be enough to keep anyone at a distance. 

It was only when you shifted next to him that he turned his eyes away from the cobblestones. He gave you a look from the corner of his eye then and offered you his hand, palm help up in a sign of consent. 

"Darling..." He murmured gently, his tone perhaps the most soothing you had yet heard. 

You had barely heard Alastor approach you, your mind wrapped far too up in the moment as you desperately tried to figure out  _ why.  _ Coincidences didn’t happen a lot in life, and if you hadn’t any better idea, you would have thought God Himself was pulling your leg. But it was all too real, too… too what? Too sudden? Too  _ much?  _ Yes, it felt too much too soon.  


  
You felt pulled every which way, the longing to stay with your father and sister, but the overwhelming, near suffocating desire to stay with Alastor. Perhaps you could have gotten your own little apartment - but a woman your age, unwed and living on her own was often frowned upon.

Afterall, in the eyes of society, women were considered far too weak to survive on their own, and the world was built around that ridiculous ridicule. Your gaze was far away, lost in a train of thought as you watched half-heartedly the passerbyers roaming with their happy children, or simply friends catching up, a man taking out his date, a grocer advertising fresh fruits. Things that you would no doubt see in Mississippi, but it would never feel the same. It wouldn’t  _ be  _ the same. 

Your gaze fell to Alastor’s hand then as if it were alien, before the cogs in your brain began to turn and, slowly, you reached out to rest your own in his warm one; gingerly, you interlaced your fingers through his and brought it to your lap absentmindedly. With your other hand, you gently began to trace each individual knuckle and groove of the top of his hand, as if he were your only grounding in this madness. 

And as much as you hated to admit it, he was.

You broke the silence at last, surprising even yourself with your own rather unwavering tone. “I don’t want to go,” you muttered under your breath. “But I can’t tell him not to take it. But if he does, Ruth will go too. When will I ever see her again? Where will  _ I  _ even go? I don’t-" you deeply inhaled before releasing a shaky breath, anxiety catching up with you. “I don’t want to leave you…”

Alastor titled his head towards you, eyes locked on your fingers tracing across his skin. A small detached part of him had to marvel at how far he had come in allowing your touch as openly and frequently as he did now. 

_ I don't want to leave you.  _

Your words seemed to flood his chest with some burning white hot emotion, and his fingers gripped yours a little tighter in response; as though he too was searching for something to grasp hold of and ground himself with. 

Knowing that you were so determined to stay by his side made it easier to see the clear path that lay ahead, although there was still some work to be done. Still, he could see this was emotional for you, to be torn between the family you knew and the little family you were creating with him. Or rather, trying to create with him. 

Therefore, it was with great affection that even surprised him, that Alastor lifted your joined hands and quickly pressed his lips to the top of your knuckles. 

"You don't have to go," His voice was still as quiet as it had ever been; he did not want your father or Ruth to overhear. "I meant it when I said you wouldn't be facing this alone."

Alastor paused, nostrils flaring slightly as he took a deep breath. His mind was still a bit frazzled, an unsettled energy settling into his bones. Immediately, he wished nothing more than for nightfall to come so he could stalk the streets and perhaps work off some of his pent up restlessness - 

He gave himself a mental shake and turned his attention back to you, once again giving your hand a squeeze. 

"I'm not a man of much means, not yet anyway," He paused slightly as a gaggle of older women walked past. A few of them caught sight of your hands still clasped together and, perhaps in addition to his own ruffled look, shot the pair of you rather scandalized looks. 

Once they were out of earshot again, Alastor continued, "But I take care of my own." There was a slight growl to his tone, voice raspy with dominance despite how quietly he still spoke. 

It did amaze you how he was initiating affection, no less accepting more and more from you as time went on, but it also made you aware of the fact that things  _ could  _ change. That nothing was permanent until the action was in the process, or the process itself had already been completed. 

You could not change the past, but the future? No, you were not someone who longed to make the world a better place; it was already so unfair and unchecked that it would be a useless thing to even attempt. But that meant as long as he was still here, there was a chance he could change his mind.

The only idea that you had was of actually telling him, and explanation aside, you weren’t ready. You barely had time to process it yourself and, while the chance was high, you weren’t entirely certain whether or not you were truly pregnant or not. Until you began to show, there was no way of really knowing - missing your period, however, had been a big sign. Generally, it was enough for more experienced people to be certain of it. 

But you were not experienced in this at all. 

That being said, you were at a loss for what to say at his offer. One side of you was filled with warmth and everything that was  _ good,  _ hope and acceptance, an inkling of that light that you knew he had inside him - even if it was just a fraction. The other side, however, knew that it was looked down upon in societal standards. Not only had you been impregnated by him, but living with him as well? Unwed? It was practically unheard of! A blasphemous action in the ‘eyes of God’. 

It was the one thing you didn’t like about Louisiana.

Everyone was so up-tight. 

You squeezed his hand. “You know I can’t ask that of you, Al.” You murmured softly. “What about your mother? You live with her, right? I can’t even imagine what she would think.” You shook your head as you looked him in the eyes. The desire to slot your lips against his in that moment was nearly overwhelming, but you managed to abate that longing by letting your gaze falter to the passerbyers. 

A sigh fled from your lips, the tension leaving your shoulders as you slumped forward slightly. 

At the mention of his mother, Alastor abruptly turned his head to stare out into the street, one eye twitching slightly as your words sunk in. 

His mother. 

Another moment passed, the gears in his head finally beginning to grind and chip away at this problem, the first step in this whole fiasco came clearly to his mind’s eye. 

_ His mother. _

Granted, he had not shared much of his past or indeed his childhood with you. Admittedly, this was purely because you had first been an intended victim, nothing more; however, now as he glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, he thought it might be beneficial to share some of his life openly. Namely, his home. 

His mother was someone he tended to fret over, making sure that she was well looked after to the best of his ability, ever since his father had passed when he was still young. 

He had grown up watching his dear mother (the only person who he had ever felt true affection for, although you were slowly becoming a contender) work herself to the bone in order to try and raise him as a widow on a meager salary she made from an upper class family on the other side of town, well away from the shanty community he had been born into. It was there that she spent her days sewing, cooking and raising young. But it was by evening, when she had returned home, that she spent her time teaching her son to embrace their culture and taught him all she knew of her ancestors' religion, brought with them from their homeland. 

Alastor grew up understanding Catholicism, just as most of Louisiana did. It had been his mother, however, who taught him the practices of Voodoo and how to call upon the spirit world. It was something he had honed over time, at times even using his victims to further his practice. If there was a solution, he was sure magic would be involved in some manner, and therefore no one better to help. 

“Can you sneak away for a while, sweetheart?” His grin widening on his face in spite of the somber tension still hanging between you two. “I think it’s time you met my mother.”

Your eyes widened. “Your mother?” 

Alastor couldn't help the cackle of glee that bubbled up from his chest, “Yes indeedy, darling! I can think of no one better to help us in our time of dire need!” 

You hesitated, looking back to the front door that was unsurprisingly, still closed. You turned your attention back to Alastor then, before squeezing his hand. “If you think that’s best,” you offered him a small smile of genuinity; a sense of relief washing over you for the sole reason that you were relieved  _ one  _ of you had some sort of plan.

“... And you don’t think she’ll mind, then sure.”  _ Sneaking out _ . The thrill of excitement that skittered up your spine was enough to block out your stress for the moment, though, you couldn’t help but feel a bit of that uncertainty creep back through the cracks.

Alastor laughed again, pulling you to your feet with surprising ease, "Mind? Sweetheart, she's going to be thrilled," he gave you an effortless twirl before righting you again in his arms. "She's nearly nagged my ear off about how I've yet to bring a dame home." 

He sealed the offer with one of his alluring winks. 

You looked up at him with larger than life eyes. “Do you think she’ll like me?” Because, let’s face it, you were a wreck. However, there was almost an innocence to your question. Of course you would be plagued with such anxiety.

Try as you might, you weren’t sure you would be able to be as level-headed as Alastor was when he met your father.

Alastor’s eyes crinkled in his mirth - you really were the splendid little thing- 

"Darling,  _ I  _ like you." He pressed his nose to the tip of yours; neighbours be damned. "You’re automatically in her good books now." 

You relaxed slightly. “I’m glad because,” you too didn’t care enough about the conspiracy theories that would no doubt go around from prying eyes. You leaned in to hover your lips over his, “I like you too.” That small smile grew into a grin to almost rival his own. 

A strange burst of energy lit in his chest at your words, and without much preamble he surged his mouth against yours, trying to put some of the emotion he was struggling to speak behind it. 

It wasn't until some joe across the street wolf whistled did he finally seem to snap to his senses and, with some hesitation, pulled away. 

"Let's blouse, doll!" Alastor practically sang, dragging you forward once more and setting off down the street with forceful determination. 

Amidst that embarrassing moment, you had adopted a blush that coated your cheeks and even your neck before you were pulled down the street. Needless to say, it didn’t take you long to begin to notice how you were struggling to keep up. 

“Alastor, wait up- Oh, sorry, excuse us,  _ Al! _ “ his hand was of course still interwoven with yours, but it didn’t help much other than ensuring you wouldn’t get lost in the crowd that he practically plowed through. “You have  _ very  _ long legs! Slow down!” Though, you couldn’t help the smile and laugh that fluttered forth from your being; your heart taking flight. 

Alastor answered your laughter with one of his own, slowing down just enough to be considerate to your smaller stature. 

"Not to worry," he gave you a smile as he turned a sharp corner and pulled you up to the street edge. "Trolley's our next venture!" 

While the trolley had been close to full when you and Alastor had squeezed yourselves on - both selfishly enjoying the excuse for close contact- it was nearly empty by the time it reached the far side of town, where the city line was behind you and the bayou stretched out in front. 

When at last the trolley rumbled around the last corner, Alastor helped you jump down and hurried to hold your hand again (which only made your heart flutter). With a quick tug and a smirk, he had you moving off down a small alleyway; small wooden houses were built along one side, while the sound of water meant you knew there to be a swamp some place close. 

“So, you’re  _ sure  _ she won’t mind?” You asked for the umpteenth time. You caught his glance and you immediately sputtered out an: “I’m SORRY! I just- I’m  _nervous_. ” You whispered at the end.

Perhaps it was because he was finally back in a familiar environment, one he knew and trusted and therefore comfortable in, but at the sound of your whispering voice it seemed as though some cable snapped in his chest. Without thinking, Alastor quickly had you pinned against the nearest wall, lips nearly bruising your own. 

You let out a surprised sound, albeit it was muffled by his own lips, before you slowly came to the realization that it was best to just give in and not question it.   
  


You were absolutely a sucker for his kisses, so it wasn’t that you were complaining, really. It took you a moment for the initial shock to fade away before your bravado returned and you returned his bruising affection with your own softer, more innocent (in a way. Then again, this wasn’t innocent at all) ones. 

When the need for oxygen became too great to ignore, Alastor pulled back just enough to break contact with your lips, but rested his forehead against your own. 

"You're a silly little bird," He murmured before having the gall to give your cheek a small teasing pinch. "Of course I'm sure. Why wouldn't she just adore you?"

“Because I’m me.” You blurted, panting slightly. “And… I’m not anyone that could ever compare to you - you’re way out of my league.”

Alastor clicked his tongue, eyeing you closely. With a quirk of his lips, he leaned closer so he was able to press his mouth against your ear, "Darling, you're…" he trailed off to press butterfly soft kisses along the curve of your neck, stopping only when he reached your collarbone. His mouth moved to pressed hotly against your ear again, "Being a bit of a killjoy." 

Your nose scrunched up at that. “Oh yeah?” You edged him on. He had a tendency to be a bit  _ rude _ , you were beginning to find out; not that that changed anything. It was just one of his quirks. “Fine then,” you lowered your voice into a whisper again. “Since I’m such a  _ killjoy,  _ why don’t you do something about it then?” You dared.

Alastor’s eyes were nearly slits, smirk growing quickly into shit-eating territory. 

And coming from Alastor, that was never a good thing. 

Your own smile was smaller, but humorous and even a bit sultry if you could be completely honest. Without touching him, you rubbed your nose against his in a show of affection. It was something that only the two of you had done; such a thing hadn’t been taught in your household and, honestly, it made you feel like it was that much more endearing and special. 

“... Or are you too much of a chicken?” Oh yeah, you went there.

He gave you a quick nip to your bottom lip, just hard enough that he was able to tug it back as he moved. 

"Now, now, my dear." He purred down at you, angling his body so as to exaggerate the height difference between you two. "I never said you were  _ wrong _ . Perhaps you should earn a little of my favor." 

And that was the moment that a spark of white hot flame lapped at your gut, and without breaking eye contact, you reached towards his waist and ran your fingertips down until they reached the waistband of his pants. You only needed to break contact once you felt for his button, before popping it out of its hold. 

With his belt holding up his pants still, there was no need to fear getting his clothing dirty. Once the button was finished, you teasingly unzippered him and, before he could say anything, you stuck your hand through the hole to angle your hand in order to palm his length through his briefs. At his unintelligible sputtering, you eyed him out the corner of your eye and, just as you tugged him out and wrapped your warm hand around his cock, you looked up to him with a coy expression.

“Hush.”

You grinned then, immediately internally calling his bluff when he didn’t reach out to stop you. You ran your fingers up him, encircling him completely as you started stroking him in slow motions. Thankfully, you didn’t have to worry about anyone seeing because you were in a particular part that wasn’t entirely populated. Taking a deep breath, you moved your hand to his balls in which you gave an experimental squeeze - at the gasp, you smiled. Bingo.

Moving and pressing them in your hands with varying pressures before going back to stroking him. “You like that, huh?” There was an unseen dark glint in your eyes, your lust slowly growing to encompass your actions. “I bet you wish my hand was my lips… my tongue,” you breathed hotly against his panting mouth, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to his lips. 

Alastor grunted at your words, licks of pleasure curling up his spine. Outside of your warm little hand on his length and the slow, squeezing touches you were gifting him, he could barely concentrate properly. It was alarming how easily you were able to disarm him, get under his skin in ways no other had before. 

He brought an arm in to brace himself against the wall while making sure not to completely crush you. 

He panted your name, "you shouldn't tease - ah- a man like me."

“Why’s that?” You peered up to his flushed face (it was almost comical to how fast he had lost his wits when you started your task) with knitted brows as if the phrase disturbed you to some degree - spoiler alert: it didn’t. You felt your own belly clench at the way he said your name; there was just something about his voice in moments like these that made your own body respond in kind despite not receiving any physical stimulation yourself. How strange.

Except, not really. He had a voice like melted butter, or some other… melted thing. He had a really nice voice, alright? 

Your movements became a bit quicker then, the belt buckle clinking in its hold as you opened your mouth for a second as you let out a soft sigh. “Tell me how it feels, Alastor.” 

Your eyes became hooded in lust. “Tell me how I affect you,” you leaned up and hovered your lips over his, eagerly swallowing his audible pants. “How I’m the only one that can get you like this,” your words were obscene; you were rather proud of yourself with your ability to dirty talk him, and with how that blush coated his cheeks in such a lovely way, visible even in the shadows of the alleyway - how you affected him. 

Your other hand slowly came to join your other one, squeezing through the opening of his pants and briefs to focus on his balls. An approving hum escaped you then, drinking in his expressions like it was the only thing that could ever get you intoxicated.  _ And he was.  _

Alastor shuddered, your filthy words affecting him more than even he expected. Panting against your soft mouth, lips exquisitely, tantalizingly brushing his, he couldn't help the quiver that had seemed to settle into his frame. Some small part of him wondered when you became the force that unraveled his best intentions, rather than his reaction being based on his lack of experience in such matters. 

He ground his molars, the first sign of his impending completion beginning to coil tighter in his belly. The lean muscles that stretched between his belly button and his length were fluttering, hips beginning to stutter in your hands as he desperately wanted to thrust against the friction you were providing. 

His nostrils flared as he mentally chastised himself; never before had anyone been so capable of silencing his almost incessant need to talk. His fingers dug into the wall as though to ground himself against the pleasure your touches were bringing. 

Alastor breathed your name, pressing his mouth to yours before pulling back just enough to catch your eyes. 

"I'm not sure what you've done to me," his voice was husky and seemed to cloak your flushed skin. "No one's ever bewitched me quite like this, darling."

He moved slightly, just enough to press you a little more into the wall, as though he couldn't get enough contact. His cheek came to rest against yours, the height difference meaning this also allowed him to nuzzle against your neck from time to time. 

A particular squeeze to his swollen, sensitive head, your thumb coming to circle his leaking tip, made his eyes close tight and he shuddered yet again. 

"You feel so good, doll." Alastor murmured, face pressed tight to your neck now as though he couldn't stop the words from tumbling from him and therefore had to hide. "Such a good girl for me, y-you're doing perfectly, k-keep going darling, ah...ah, yes, just like that..." 

He seemed to be rambling almost, so caught up in the physical response of his body and the knowledge that it was  _ you _ doing so. He wasn't used to anyone holding such power over him and a small part of him was thrilled that such a pretty little dish was  _ his _ . 

There was a surge of pride that found its way into your mind in that moment, to have the confirmation that not only were you the only one to ever be able to do sure a thing to him, but the fact that he was basically becoming putty in your hands; bit by bit, you could see his hard exterior chip away and it felt  _ amazing  _ to have been the one to take him from his throne and have him a quivering, begging mess, simply from your touches. 

At the sensation of his head near your neck, you were surprised to find your own head naturally gravitating away in order to bear yourself to him, as if somehow you knew that his rougher nature would soon make its appearance, although, you weren’t entirely certain. Whether or not he peppered your next in kisses or eventually ended up biting you (again), was up in the air. A little pain was worth it all.

His coos and groans were enough to make your heart miss a beat, and you let out a small whimper of a sound to urge him on. “You’re so good,” you whispered softly. “You’re being so good for me, aren’t you? So quiet, so cooperative, oh Alastor…” you leaned your head back into him, pressing your head against his own as you picked up your pace. 

And then you realized in that moment in a bout of clarity that you were about to meet his mother, and you were not going to do that when his pants would undoubtedly be a mess. Thankfully for you, however, the two of you had an alternative. 

You stopped and pulled him out through his pants before you crouched down just low enough to very quickly dart your tongue across his weeping tip. Your hands were grasping his slacks tightly to keep you balanced, before you opened your mouth and took him in; focusing majorly on the sensitive tip and just below it. There was a small hum released in an affirmation as if to tell him that it was alright - he could cum.

Alastor's hand came down from the wall to twist his fingers into your hair, almost to the point of painfully tugging at the roots. His short nails scratched for purchase against your scalp, as though trying to ground himself. 

"Good girl, yes," he hissed, teeth bared slightly. His eyes seemed to blaze in the dim of the alleyway, and he had locked them onto you the moment you had knelt to the ground. 

He stroked the calloused pad of one his thumbs across the sensitive skin just under your eyes, large hand cupping your face with surprising gentleness, as he quickly lost himself to the damning heat of your mouth. 

"You look so pretty on your knees," Alastor crooned down to you, although there was a breathlessness to his tone; he was fighting a losing battle.

Unable to stop his hips from snapping forward, Alastor gave one last sharp tug to your hair and cooed your name before the tension in his belly finally crested. His entire frame quivered and he finished, warm and bitter, on your tongue.

It would take some getting used to, specifically for you not to jump slightly when it happened despite already expecting it. 

Having had to go slack when he had started thrusting into your mouth, you were solely dependent on him pulling out before you were able to swallow, and once you did, you were left equally panting. 

There was a moment of silence, before you looked up to him, your fingers clenching his slacks even tighter as you pulled yourself up to eagerly hover your lips over his. There was a string of saliva and ejaculation still present on your lips when you opened them, connecting them still before you swiped your tongue out and gathered it back up. 

“Was that good enough for you, daddy?” The words that fled from your lips didn’t cease to darken your blush. The meaning behind it had an interwoven significance; one that, up to now, was a shared secret. Although the two of you had completed such an obscene act, you hesitated to bring your arms around his neck. As much as you wanted to continue touching him (god, you wanted nothing more than to just hold him), you had to play by his rules. It was his game, afterall.

Alastor caught the slight hesitation on your face, and his grin spread across his face; it was a small sign of your obedience but it was pleasing to see nonetheless. 

He swooped down to kiss you, not caring that some of his release remained on your lips or that he could taste himself when he pressed his tongue to the seam of your mouth, seeking to deepen the action. 

Your arms tightened around his neck out of impulse, your smaller frame rocked a bit by the force of him gathering you in his lanky arms. 

When Alastor finally pulled away, his infamous smirk was playing on his face, "I was thoroughly entertained, little mama." 

“I’m glad to be entertaining to you,” you whispered, grinning against his lips. “Though as much as I’d absolutely  _ adore  _ to stay in this old,” you took a look around without moving your head, “ _ old _ alleyway with you, I think we should go back to what we were doing before this.” 

Despite how nervous you felt at the thought, there was a bloom of anticipation that settled in your gut.  _ Alastor’s mother. _


	7. You Won’t Believe This False Hope

Once the two of you were presentable, Alastor couldn't stop himself from pressing a kiss to your forehead before offering his arm for you to take. 

A short walk across another street had the pair of you in front of a small but neat, well maintained house, a large magnolia tree reigning over the tidy front yard. In the distance, you thought you could hear the soft sounds of chickens. From here, the noise of the swamp had lessened, although the earthy, heady smell of damp soil and vegetation remained. 

A small group of children came bursting around the far corner, apparently caught up in some game of chase. They called out greetings to Alastor as they spirited past, their giggles floating back to you in the slight breeze. He called after them, and a part of you perhaps already affected by the rush of hormones your body was creating felt a pinch of emotion in your chest at the sight. 

"Well, darling!" Alastor gestured airily as he strolled the two of you to the front porch. "Here we are." He paused just before the top step and turned to look at you. 

He tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear and touched his nose to yours; it had quickly become an action he used to show you whatever hard to describe emotion he was grappling with. 

"Ready, my pretty belle?" 

Your eyes crinkled at the show of affection - another thing that you had noticed, was that he was slowly becoming more and more touchy (than he already was) and relaxed with you, which only made your heart take flight and for you to feel like you were on cloud nine. You weren’t sure if he even noticed it, and that was something that you weren’t looking to change anytime soon. You were a sucker for those kisses, man.

“As I’ll ever be,” you smiled despite that tell-tale sign of nervousness which was portrayed through your eyes. You pressed in and rubbed your nose against his in return. “Are you?”

Alastor gave a pleased hum, before he righted himself and gave you a tight spin so you came to rest flush to his side. 

"Let the show begin." He gave you a wink and raised his hand to knock just once before throwing open the door.

Your eyes widened slightly at his grandeur, specifically at the part where you were one moment outside, and the next  _ inside.  _ Not even inside your own home! It was his! This was insane! Except it wasn’t and you were pretty sure you were adopting some of his over dramatic tendencies as your own. 

"Come along," He grabbed your hand and pulled you forward, long legs once again meaning your heels barely touched the ground. 

You were led deeper into his home, catching sight of a cozy living room that harbored a fireplace that appeared similar to your own; the embers were spat out against the deer rug, fizzling out before any true danger could come from it, lighting the room with a comfortable orange hue and warmth. Speaking of deer, there were… 

“Taxidermies?” You questioned aloud, breaking contact with his hand to explore your surroundings. 

Because let’s face it, you were in his home and like hell you weren’t going to explore. There were small wooden trinkets of deer and other woodland animals on the side table, a mahogany coffee table with a vase of magnolias and a radio off to the side. The heads, however, were what sparked your curiosity the most. There was a rifle mounted just below them, too. 

“Did you hunt-“ you turned around to look over your shoulder before realizing that he was standing directly next to you. Jesus, he was quiet. “Did you hunt these? Is this yours?” You motioned towards the rifle. 

Alastor hummed yet again, his eyes locked on you in spite of where you had motioned to. His tongue peeked out to wet his bottom lip and some strange glint came into his eye. "It is. It was my fathers." 

You hesitated. “... Was?” 

A peculiar look passed over Alastor’s face before he seemed to pull back to himself. He gave you a small, close-mouthed smile for a moment before sighing and moving past you to take the rifle from its place. 

"My father was a tradesman, in fact he had been working for the same upper class as my mother did when they first met-" He paused as though suddenly startled by how much he was sharing. Alastor gave his head a small shake and leveled his gaze with yours. "He passed when I was twelve, after a rather nasty battle against pneumonia. He taught me how to hunt." 

“I’m sorry.” Your voice was quiet. “I didn’t know, I just thought-“ you cut yourself off, deciding in that moment it was best not to go on further. Clearing your throat, you took a step closer to inspect the rifle. “It’s really pretty. You take good care of it. Do you still use it?” 

Alastor's mouth twitched up into a wider grin - something you were happy to see given the sudden change in atmosphere - and he gently motioned to the few stag heads that were hung near the hearth. 

"Those are some of mine, yes." He stepped closer to you before silently offering you the rifle, one eyebrow quirked as if he would be surprised if you took it. He had a feeling you were a bit sentimental towards such subjects. 

You were confused for a moment before realization settled in. “Oh uh, I don’t want to damage it or anything. It might be best for you to hold it,” you let out an anxious laugh. “But,” you let your hand rest against the side of it, the smooth, cool texture of the weapon a relief in the warmth of the room. 

“This is really cool.” You looked up to him then. “You’re really cool.” A softer smile then. 

He chuckled softly, his ego of course positively reacting to yet more praise. Some part of him doubted he would ever tire of hearing your voice, especially when it was filled with awe of him. 

Alastor shifted, the strange glint coming back to his eye. With a smirk that edged on a tad cruel, he moved to press the muzzle of the rifle against the bottom tip of your chin and, with the slightest pressure, titled your head upwards so he could brush his lips against yours; his mouth was warm while the metal chilled.

As hard as it was to focus on anything when he kissed you, even in the lightest of touches, you were very much out of tune with the affection because there was a  _ rifle  _ at your chin. 

You lowered your eyelids. “Alastor,” you murmured. “You better pray that that isn’t loaded.”

He rolled his eyes and pulled back from you, taking the gun away. With the air of someone deliberately showing off, he moved to place it back on the rack; perhaps a tad too over exaggerated, as within the blink of an eye, a loud shot rang out. There was a blast of wood and some dust as the bullet passed through the wall and another crash. 

Silence.

And then everything came rushing out:

“It was loaded!? You had that thing on my chin and it was  _ loaded!?  _ What- I-“ you brushed past him and inspected the wall, sputtering out unintelligible phrases all the while. “YOU HAD IT ON MY CHIN!” Your hands flew out to your sides as you wildly motioned between him and the gun. 

At the very least, the man had the decency to look rather mortified himself; his eyes crinkling as he offered you what he hoped was his best smile. Just as he opened his mouth to spout what would be no doubt complete nonsense, the sound of a door opening reached you. 

"ALASTOR!" a feminine voice rang out. 

Just as you were about to give him a piece of your mind, your agape mouth closed slowly, a quizzical expression passing over you before realizing who it had to be. 

Alastor seemed to freeze, but before he could come to his senses, a small gust of wind trickled down the hallway and the sound of what sounded percularily like whispering voices reached the two of you from where you remained in the living room. His dark eyes darted to you, before he finally regained some movement in his legs and he crossed the small room with delicate speed.

“In here, mother.” He looked back to you, one eyebrow raised as though to double check you were alright. “We’re in here.”

“We?” A soft voice came, delicate and feminine. It seemed to wash over your skin, still tingling from the rush of adrenaline you faced after the rifle went off, and soothed the last edges of your nerves. 

The breeze disappeared as soon as it started, but you were suddenly aware of a long, thin shadow that seemed to be creeping down the walls, as the sound of steps continued. It continued, contorting and shimmering in a way that to you seemed wholly unnatural - across the small room, Alastor did not seem to notice (or if he did, he wasn’t bothered by it) - and it prickled at the fine hairs on your arm as a trickle of fear washed down your spine. 

A small, trim figure came around the corner and before either you or Alastor had time to properly react, the sound of a slipper hitting skin echoed in the air. You bit your lip as you watched as Alastor suddenly hunched, a hand flying to the back of his head. 

“Ouch-Mother!” He sputtered, eyes wide in surprise. 

“There’s more where that came from, young man.” The woman behind him ‘tsk’ed, and went to raise the dainty slipper in her hand once more before her eyes landed on you. 

Immediately, you raised a hand, a shit-eating grin forming on your face. “No, keep going. He deserves it.” You laughed.

Within a beat, the sound of Alastor getting hit once again rang out. 

“Mother, pl-” 

“Hush, boy.” His mother moved farther into the room and the two of you seemed to take a moment to size the other up. 

She was dark skinned with black hair that was neatly curled and pinned back. Her face was still youthful, although there were pleasant crows feet at the corners of her large, brown eyes (the same eyes as her son, you noticed). She was wearing a simple smock dress and sensible shoes; she gave the air of someone with pride but who had fought hard for the life she had now. 

“Allie,” his mother murmured, her eyes glued on you. “You brought a girl home?”

Oh, you were absolutely exuberant despite the sudden tension. When you flickered your gaze to Alastor (or rather, Allie), it said it all - you were  _ not  _ going to let him live that down. Nevertheless, you soon returned your gaze to the woman and, taking a step forward, you offered your hand. 

“Hello, it’s a pleasure to meet you!”

She eyed your hand for a moment (apparently some of Alastor’s quirks were inherited) before reaching out and taking it. She had a firm but warm handshake and after a moment, a smile spread across her face. 

“Pleasure’s all mine, honey!” Her dark eyes seemed to light up. 

In spite of the throbbing at the back of his skull, Alastor stepped forward and cleared his throat gently.

“Darling, this is my mother: Margaret.” He gave your name to his mother in turn but she waved him off with a delicate hand. 

“Nevermind Allie, honey.” She simpered at you. “Call me Mama Maggie, everyone else does!” 

Maggie took your hand and wrapped it around her forearm; she seemed more than content to focus on you rather than her son. The latter stood in the middle of the room, a rather odd look on his face, as he watched the two of you make your way out of the living room. 

“How about some coffee, or tea? I have a lovely blend that just came in the other day- oh!” She paused and threw Alastor a look over her shoulder. “Mind that hole you just blasted in the wall, you silly man!”

Alastor muttered an apology, his eye flicking to the damage; it wasn’t bad considering the buck shot that had blown through it, and he figured that it wouldn’t take long to fix when he had the time. Although a part of him hesitated to ignore his mother’s asking, he couldn’t quite bring himself to allow you to go alone with Maggie and so he followed the pair of you down the long hallway to the small, cozy kitchen. 

The kitchen was quaint, although it contained all the standard equipment. There was a small stove lit by a wood fire beneath. You could smell spices and the earthy smell of tomatoes and onions; you eyed a large soup pot that was bubbling as Maggie steered you towards the little rounded table tucked in the corner by a larger window.

As you settled in your chair, you could see the tidy backyard which consisted of a few flowering bushes, what looked to be a number of fruit trees and a small vegetable garden. A chicken coop sat on the back corner, although the half dozen hens were pecking freely about the dirt. It was almost disarmingly charming, and your chest felt warm at the idea of Alastor having grown up here, in such a warm, homey environment. 

“Well, now…” Maggie sat across from you and gently laid a hand on your arm to bring your focus back to her. “Let’s take a good look at you, dear.” She hummed gently, her lips tugging at the corners into a smile. She was quite pretty herself, and you could easily see where Alastor’s dark, charming features had come from. 

“Why, you’re just the prettiest thing this side of the Mason-Dixon line!” She paused as Alastor brought over a few cups and poured coffee for the three of you. “Just how did such a fine young lady get caught up with my Allie?”

Alastor sighed, lowering his lanky body into the chair that sat on the other side of the table; his mother had made sure to keep you close and it meant that he now felt a tad ostracized, having to sit on the far edge. 

“Mama,” His tone was slightly sulky; his formality forgotten. “I told you-”

“You told me nothin’, you rascal!” Maggie wagged her finger disapprovingly. “I was just starting to think I was doomed to house a bachelor for the rest of my years and you show up out of the blue with this lovely creature?” She sighed, as though the man was exhausting (you bit back a smile because, well, he truly was).   


“I do hope you’ll stay for dinner, honey. I would’ve preferred some notice,” She sent Alastor a rather dirty look. “But we’ll make do. It’s been so long since we’ve had company, especially this side of town.”

You couldn’t hide the pretty smile that was on your face at the mannerisms of Alastor’s mother; she reminded you of your own mother in some ways, while still remaining wholly unique. While you were friendly, you were a bit introverted when it came to meeting new people, but Maggie was already breaking through the thin ice and warming you up to her. It had to have been the shoe, you were almost certain. 

At the offer, you hesitated and looked over to Alastor for some reassurance before your smile lowered into a smaller, more genuine one. “I would love to, Mama.” Your heart clenched as you said those words - the last time you had even said anything remotely similar was when your own mother had been alive. Though, instead of putting a damper on your own mood, you sat up straight and grabbed the coffee cup, bringing it to your lips and sipping lightly. 

Oh, it was boiling.

You slowly put it back down. 

“But I assure you,” you spoke up after a moment, looking at Alastor out of the corner of your eye as if you were  _ daring  _ him to say otherwise. “Your son isn’t a bachelor anymore. You’ve raised him well, isn’t that right-“ that stupid grin was on your face again as you looked at Alastor head-on, a loose laugh tumbling from your lips, “Allie?” 

Alastor quirked an eyebrow as though promising your cheek would be returned later. He went to push his glasses up his nose out of habit before realizing he was still without them and instead settled for giving you a tight smile. You beamed back at him, tongue peeking just between your lips to mock him without being caught. 

Across from you, Maggie gasped and clapped her hands together. Her eyes were wide and shining, "Well now, that changes things doesn't it!" She stood quickly from the table. "I, well, I just never thought-" Maggie patted Alastor on the head as he sputtered with indignation.

"I'll prepare a chicken, we can add it to the gumbo, there should be time." 

And with little more to do, she bustled from the small kitchen and out the back door. You looked after her, slightly surprised by the energy she had for someone so tiny (she was shorter than you, you had come to realize and that was a feat). Next to you, Alastor sighed, although there was a small grin on his face. 

"See, darling?" He took a sip of the still hot coffee. "I told you she'd be thrilled." 

You hummed lightly, lips drawn tight; for all your excitement over being so warmly welcomed into his home, there remained one big component missing. 

"When do we tell her?" You turned to him then, unable to keep the frown off your face. "Do we? I mean, we aren't even really sure there is a baby..." 

For some reason, the thought made your chest constrict tightly. 

Alastor chuckled, "I brought you here for a reason,  _ cher _ ." His accent slipped through, apparently a bit of a side effect of being in his own home. He seemed to catch himself and cleared his throat. 

"My mother can confirm it. Or," His smooth tone was back. "We can ask her to try." 

You blinked up at him, your mind sluggishly churning thoughts. 

"Ah… how?" 

Alastor gave you a look over the rim of his coffee cup before he lowered it without taking a sip. He cast his eyes at the back door, which was still closed. Most likely, Maggie was still busy at the coop. 

"My mother is, hmm… well versed in unusual teachings." Seeing your confusion, he snorted lightly and waved a merry hand. "She's a… healer of sorts." 

There was a pause. 

"What?" You sighed, unable to keep the exasperation from your tone. Now was not the time for his usual cryptic words. 

Alastor pushed himself from his chair and silently offered you his hand. You took it with a frown but nonetheless allowed him to pull you to your feet. He ushered you from the kitchen and back into the hallway; however this time instead of heading towards the living room, he led you deeper into the house where you noticed two rooms tucked on opposite sides of a bathroom. 

He paused briefly and gave you a wink before opening one of the doors. Immediately, you peeked inside (again, you were not going to pass up the opportunity to snoop in his house) and saw it must be his. 

There was a comfortable tidy bed and a small dresser topped with his cologne and a few personal effects. There was a radio in here as well, although you were far from surprised. One wall contained a large bookshelf, constructed by hand by the look of it, that was teeming with titles.

He dropped your hand to cross the room and opened a drawer. When he turned back to face you, he was tucking the wire frames of another pair of glasses behind his ears. 

"Always good to have a spare set, especially with wild, ferocious dames about the place." He gave you a wink. 

You frowned at him, arms crossing your chest as your stubbornness set in. Why did he always have to try and change the subject? 

"Alastor," You sighed, moving to stand closer to him. "What did you mean about your mother? How is she a-what-a healer? I don't… I just don't get what that means."

"I suppose some would call it  _ santeria _ ," He adjusted his glasses casually, as though this was a perfectly fine conversation to be having. "Voodoo, in other words."

… Which was blasphemous in the religion you had been raised up with. 

You opened your mouth to say something, before closing it once you realized that nothing was going to come out. Looking behind your shoulder as if she were going to appear out of absolute thin air, you lowered your voice in a rushed whisper. 

“Like- Like magic?” You rarely stuttered over your words, but you hadn’t been expecting it.  _ Voodoo?  _ You weren’t well-versed in it like he was, so from what you knew, it was just… a more dangerous type of magic with a whole lot of strings attached. You felt like you were breaking the law. 

“How’s it work?” There was a sudden thrill of intrigue in your words after a moment, before you moved over to his bed and hopped atop it to let your legs swing down. “Is it…” you broke eye contact and looked down to your belly. “Is it dangerous?” Needless to say, you were hesitant. 

Alastor's lips twitched, your naive enthusiasm and posture on his bed making you an endearing sight. He crossed to stand before and grinned down at you. 

"Think of it more like..." He twirled a hand as though trying to grasp the words from the air. "Invoking favors with the spirit world." He stooped to tap you on the nose, unable to help himself. "And no, my dear. We'll start small and see if the solution arises. I'll ask her to read your cards." 

If any time called for some guidance from the ancestors, it was surely this.

After all, while Maggie was popular in the community for her healing concoctions and oddly effective talismans, she was also a fine clairvoyant and could read the Tarot better than anyone he had yet met. 

Perhaps it was the adrenaline of the moment, to know that it was inevitable for someone to eventually find out, but you were anxious to ensure that Alastor wouldn’t get into a lot of trouble. Reaching out, you took his hands in yours and intertwined your fingers; even if, by the end of the day, it was only for comfort. “Okay,” you murmured in agreement, before bringing your left hand up and kissing his knuckles. 

“Listen, if…” your gaze faltered, a sense of nervousness welling up deep inside you. Despite how positive you were, there  _ were _ flukes sometimes - even though missed periods were the most common outcome of telling pregnancies. “If I’m not…” your voice was quiet then, trailing off as you were sure that he was smart enough to piece it together in the end. 

And then in a moment of bravado or just plain stupidity, you dropped his hands and reached up to his collar to yank him down to you. When he was close enough, you moved to wrap your arms around his neck, but instead of kissing him or anything of the sort, you tucked your head beneath his chin and nuzzled into him. He smelled so good - and oftentimes, that was enough for your anxiety to just melt away. 

“If I’m not, Al,” you whispered then, “just… don’t leave me. I don’t want to lose you.”

_ Would he stay? _

Alastor paused despite the unnatural angle you had forced his lanky form into, his future suddenly, maddeningly opening up for one brief moment. It wasn't so much the thought of not having you around, but rather a kind of dark optimism that washed over him at the thought of being able to do as he craved to do, without consequences for you. 

That thought, however, was quickly overshadowed by the idea of what losing you would mean now. You would be free of the insanity he claimed title to, free to be courted and married properly; someone else would hold your body close, someone else would kiss you...

But now, with your face pressed tightly to his throat so he could feel your lips brushing the skin there as you spoke, another wave of possessiveness broke over him. Immediately, whether you truly understood the full ramifications (which, no you did not), Alastor knew he was going to keep you for himself. 

If there was truly no baby, then it simply meant he would adapt his plans; either way, you were to be swept along in his undertow as he continued on his path. 

He seemed to shake himself out of his reserve and returned your affection, wrapping his arms around you and then slowly sinking to the bed in a way that allowed him to lay down and you simply followed in order to maintain closeness, face still pressed to his neck. 

"You're mine." Alastor spoke the words clearly, with little hesitation. 

He rolled you gently then so the two of you could lay side by side, face to face, although his longer legs did dangle off the edge of the bed. He touched his nose to yours, the two of you sharing breath intimately for a moment. 

"If there isn't a baby, well, we just have more time to experience all the fun to be had." His hand came to lay on your lower belly, slowly rubbing soothing circles there. "However, I have to admit I am rather fond of the idea of watching you swell with my child."

“You are?” Your eyes were suddenly sparkling, your voice quiet as if it were a secret for only the two of you. A tsunami of emotion suddenly washed over you in that moment, possibly brought on by your hormones, but mostly because it was an emotional moment; especially when his hand came to lay on your belly. Your cheeks warmed at the sensation, just as the beginnings of tears manifested in the corners of your eyes. 

Perhaps the behavior was adopted from spending so much time with him, but the next moment you found yourself once again burying your head beneath his as if to hide your emotional state. But instead of doing just that, you peppered kisses to the junction between his shoulder and neck before moving to his Adam’s apple, and then the bottom of his jaw. 

Your emotional state was told solely through your affection, and you only stopped when you couldn’t hold back on your nerves anymore. Leaning back, you brushed your nose over his. 

“Thank you,” you murmured. “... For doing this. You didn’t have to, but you did.” A small smile found its way on your lips then. “So… we should probably go see what she says. And,” you pressed your lips to his once, “please sit next to me this time.” 

Above you, Alastor returned your soft smile, his eyes crinkling in his usual marking of mirth. He tipped your head up then to press a feather light kiss to your lips, the two of you sharing breath for a moment when he pulled away. Neither of you seemed particularly rushed to separate from your intimate position; however, hearing Maggie’s voice echo down the hallway jolted the two of you apart abruptly.

Alastor cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses, his smile still remaining, “Alright, sweetheart. Shall we break the news?” He gave you a customary wink. 

“Do you think she’ll be mad?” You knew how it sounded - being unwed and all. 

Alastor rolled his eyes, “I expect her to be  _ thrilled.  _ After all, I was doomed to be a bachelor until you came along, little doll.” His grin slowly morphed into more of a smirk. He offered you his arm once again (as he always did). “Now, let’s not keep her from her jubilation.”

You took his arm and blinked up at him. “Do you mind if you tell her? I mean, I don’t… really know what to say. She’s your mother, anyways, ha-ha…” god you were a nervous mess. “I mean! We’re in this together, but I’m just-“ you paused. “... I’m just gonna follow your lead.” 

“Of course,” He murmured, beginning to lead you back towards the hall.

As the pair of you stepped just outside of his door, you thought you caught sight of an oddly distorted shadow, longer than yours should have been cast; but when you looked over your shoulder, you saw nothing out of the ordinary, and simply chalked it up to nerves. Beside you, naturally, Alastor was still rambling, seemingly unaware that your focus had been momentarily stolen.

“... I suppose it is only fair that I tell her-”

“Tell me  _ what, _ Allie?” Maggie’s voice came from the living room; the pair of you had passed right on by, headed towards the kitchen. 

You froze on the spot, not at all unlike a deer in headlights. First introductions were always tough, but now sharing your precious secret on day one? Now that was a record breaker right there for how many times your stomach did flips. Instinctively, you held onto his arm just a bit tighter; whether it be for your own comfort, his, or both of yours not entirely known. Though, you supposed you could help ease into it.

“It smells wonderful, Mama!” You complimented, a smile forming onto your lips. “It’s making me hungry already.” You looked up to Alastor for reassurance before turning back to Maggie. 

“Though, if you’re not too busy, I think it might be best if we all sit down? We have something pretty important to ask of you,” a nervous laugh then and anxiously, you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, shifting your weight from one foot to the other as you glanced up to Alastor, leaning into him slightly. 

Across the room from you, Maggie gave a low hum, as though disbelieving already. She settled herself on the quaint settee and leveled her son with a steely glance (not so unlike the one he utilized from time to time), “What have you gotten yourself into now, Alastor?”

The man in question registered the use of his proper name with a flinch, as though he had been hit once again. He pushed his glasses up on his nose, a true sign of his building nervousness. He cleared his throat, his eyes darting to catch yours; which was a mistake, because he was sure the slight panic he saw in yours was mirrored in his own. Something about the uniqueness of the situation had made his normally brilliant mind come to an absolute halt. 

Suddenly, the idea of having to explain himself and the situation was overwhelming; in a moment of near terror, he dropped his arm to take up your hand instead, his grip nearly crushing your fingers. 

Oh, if anyone knew what a panic attack looked like, it was you. “Al,” you whispered, but once you realized you were not going to get through to him, you let out your own nervous sigh and gave his mother an apologetic smile. “Correct me if I’m wrong, Maggie, but you do Tarot cards, right?”

With your fingers interlaced with his, you gave Alastor’s knuckles a quick swipe with your thumb to comfort him. 

Maggie blinked in surprise at the slight change in topic, but a spark of interest you hadn’t noticed before seemed to light in her dark eyes at your words. 

“Read, dear. I  _ read _ Tarot, yes.” She gave you a close eye; you felt as though you were being uncomfortably x-rayed. “Are you interested in a reading before dinner?” 

It might have been the light from the fireplace playing tricks on your eyes, or perhaps your nerves, but you thought her shadow grew slightly, edging over the back of the couch…

“If it’s not too much trouble?” You glanced to Alastor then, making sure that he was alright before you walked forward, fingers still intertwined and pulled out a chair to sit in. “Alastor speaks highly of your work, actually.” Because if there was anything you were beginning to take note, it was that the family’s egos were as big as Mount Everest. 

“Does he now?” There was a hint of good humour in Maggie’s voice as she gave Alastor another piercing look. “Here I always thought  _ he _ thought I was rather outdated…” She gave you both a wink not unlike the ones her son was also so adept at; clearly, charm ran strongly in the family as well. “I’ll go get my deck, and we will see what the spirits want to tell you.”

As she moved off and disappeared down the hall, you cast Alastor a  _ look.  _ “And I thought  _ I  _ was the nervous one.” You shook your head playfully, sticking your tongue out at him.

Alastor was still staring after his mother, but he heard the jest in your voice all the same, a small smile spreading back over his face. 

“I was suddenly reminded of the time I was eight and set the chicken coop on fire.” He turned then to stick his own tongue out at you in retaliation. “Maggie can be a terrifying creature.” 

You gasped loudly, just as the woman returned in record timing. “Mama, you would not  _ believe—“ _

Your lips were abruptly sealed with a pinch from his fingers, “Now, now dear,” He gave a rather false sounding chuckle, his eyes clearly stating the warning behind his action. “It’s best if we let my mother focus, the cards can be tricky things!”

“Maybe for you, you silly brat!” Maggie huffed, pulling over a small side table that she placed in front of your chair. She gave Alastor a hard look; as though he had been electrified, he jumped forward and wrestled the settee closer, so that she was also able to reach the table. 

You watched as her nimble hands began to shuffle the deck, “What am I supposed to, uh,” you glanced at Alastor, now hovering nervously at your shoulder. “Do, exactly?”

Maggie stopped shuffling and caught your eye with another one of her looks. Her hands came to rest just over the cards as she laid the pile on the table, “Ask the cards a question, dear. If you’re lucky, they might answer you.”

“O-out loud?” You sputtered. 

Maggie tilted her head slightly, as though amused by your naivety. Her smile was gentle however, when she spoke next, “Do what feels right for you, honey. Just make sure it’s a question true to your heart. The spirits will hear it either way.”

She lifted the pile into one palm then and offered them to you. “Ask, and then pick just 3 cards. Lay them on the table for me.”

With one last glance to Alastor, you swallowed your nerves and took a deep breath as you looked at the cards. For a moment, your mind was silent before you asked: 

_ Were you pregnant?  _

Nodding in understanding, you hesitated, before you took three different cards that you felt a natural pull towards, before laying them face down for Maggie before looking back up to her, your hands sliding off of the table and falling into your lap once more; your thumbs however, hidden from her view, twiddled anxiously. 

Alastor noticed your fidgeting and placed what he hoped was a comforting hand on your shoulder, although he was certain his nerves were clearly showing as well. For some reason, he felt suddenly anxious although he couldn’t quite place the reason why. 

In front of you both, Maggie ran one of her hands over the cards, closing her eyes with a deep breath. She flipped each card over neatly and placed them into a line of three. She opened her eyes and took a moment to study them, before her eyes darted first to you, then to Alastor, and then back to you once more. 

You noticed with some unease that she looked rather emotional all of a sudden. 

“What’s… it say?” You managed.

A small tear had gathered in her eye, but she still wore her soft grin, “Oh, sweet girl…” She murmured quietly, before she seemed to come to her senses. She looked back down at the cards and motioned for you to look too.

“Here,” She pointed to the first card, on which you saw a picture of a woman sitting under a tree. There was something about her image that filled your chest with a strange warm feeling, as odd a reaction to a  _ card _ as any. 

“The Empress. She represents femininity and… motherhood.” There was a knowing glint in Maggie’s eye. 

“The Fool,” She pointed to the second card, showing the image of a man dressed as a jester, walking along a river. “Surprisingly, he tells us a new journey is on its way. Perhaps, a new beginning of sorts.” 

Maggie paused to cast a look over to Alastor, who was still frozen by your side, one hand rather painfully clamped to your shoulder. You attempted to shift him off with a small roll of your shoulder blade, but he was firmly attached. 

“What about the last one?” You huffed, suddenly feeling rather over this particular family and their need for dramatics. No doubt it was something you would have to get used to.

Maggie’s eyes finally moved off you and Alastor to take in the last card, “This card is the Page of Cups. The spirits believe you are in possession of some good news.” 

And that was the moment that you looked up to Alastor - as much as you were beginning to love Mama, this was something that was personal between the two of you, the actual confirmation that you were indeed pregnant and that you were going to be a mother and Alastor was going to be a  _ father.  _ But it was something that you had already believed, so it didn’t come as much of a shock to you as it had beforehand. 

Alastor, on the other hand.

“Al…” you murmured, an expression of worry suddenly crossing your features. You didn’t move to stand, though; you didn’t particularly trust your legs to hold your weight up in that moment. 

Alastor opened his mouth, only to snap it shut again. He swallowed rather harshly, his Adam’s apple bobbing as the realization of the true situation began to sink in. You were carrying  _ his _ child. He was going to be a father.  _ Him _ . 

He couldn’t quite find the right words, and so he lamely settled for a meek shrug. From her chair, Maggie made a noise of irritation and seemed to leapt to her feet with more energy than her small frame should have been capable of. 

With a surprisingly hard shove, she moved Alastor out of her way and immediately swept you up in her arms, crushing you to her tightly. To say the least, you were a little more than just surprised; not even just by the sudden embrace (which you returned warmly), but by Alastor’s own reaction to it all. Irritation began to well up deep inside of you at the sight of him just  _ standing  _ there, aimlessly shifting. 

Oh, you’d definitely have a word with him in a moment.

“Mama,” you murmured, “you’re not angry? You just met me, I-“ A thousand different emotions were running havoc in your mind. You let out a heavy sigh and wrapped your arms around her. At least, if anything, you had her. “... Thank you.”

Maggie squeezed you harder then, if that was even possible, “Oh, not at all, sweet girl!” You could hear her voice, thick with emotion, yet still comforting in your ear. “W-Why, I just  _ never _ thought…”

She dropped her arms from around you with little warning, only to turn and smack Alastor upside the head. He had still been standing there, looking lost and pathetic, when the sound of skin meeting skin met your ears; you felt a rather vicious spike of vindication as you watched his hand fly to the side of his cheek. 

“Mama!” He practically yelped, his accent strong and thick in his moment of surprise. 

“Alastor, you mutt!” She raised her hand threateningly again, and in that moment you stepped forward and cleared your throat lightly.

“Maggie, may I have a word with him?” You questioned softly, though your gaze on his own was anything but. Without waiting for an affirmation, you walked over, grabbed his wrist, and tugged him out of the room. Silence followed you, save for the clacking of his shoes behind you. 

Silence was  _ never  _ good in moments like these.

When you reached his door, you threw it open and pulled him in, before closing it in one grand motion. At that moment, you frowned and crossed your arms, leaning against the door to forbid his escape. “ _ So?” _

He blinked down at you, one hand still pressed dumbly to his cheek. 

“So? Darling, we received our answer...”

You stared at him in exasperation. “And? How’s that make you feel, Alastor?” You had a whole lot to say, suddenly. “Because you don’t look too happy right now!” You whisper-yelled. You were ridiculously confused and frustrated. 

And it didn’t help that you felt emotion rise up in your throat.

Despite the warning clearly in your tone, Alastor stood there, still staring at you. His mind seemed to be one continuous loop of thoughts and plans being reshaped into new ones. As he watched the anger settle into the lines on your face, he briefly wondered how best to explain the flurry of emotions battling inside him. 

Elation had washed over him the moment the first card had been revealed. After all, Maggie had taught him the Tarot from a young age and although he had preferred his mother do the reading for obvious reasons, he immediately knew the implications of each one as they were shown. 

However, the confirmation of the new life growing inside you only brought Alastor a new moral dilemma. Namely, how would  _ he _ raise a child? And as the mother, did he owe you the truth - or would keeping you sheltered from the darker aspects of his character be more beneficial?

He could feel a headache beginning in his temple, a small tick appearing under his left eye; however, he was still able to see the look that came over you, your sadness and confusion palpable even to him. His gut twisted and he reached for you with little thought, hand held palm up as though a peace offering. 

You flinched away before you could stop yourself. Your anger was built on hurt, not that he didn’t show any emotion during the confirmation, but the fact that he had led you to believe that he had been truly as excited as you were. That he really was going to  _ be there  _ for the baby that was growing in your womb,  _ his  _ baby. Your eyes were burning, and when you blinked, the effects of your emotions spilled down your cheeks. Quickly, you roughly wiped the tears away. 

“Don’t.”

You understood now. You got it. It was all good. Without another glance, and perhaps even the worst of all - silent treatment, you turned around and twisted the knob. You paused, a shaky breath escaping you. “Don’t worry about it, Al.” 

And then you opened the door. 

“You’ve done enough for me already.” 


	8. Eternity And A Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ⚠️sexual content ahead⚠️

Your tears were coming down so thickly, you could barely see where you were going. You blindly followed your hunch and felt a moment of vindictive pride when your hand left the smooth wood of the back door. You threw it open with little care, stumbling down the small set of steps into the yard. For a brief moment you remembered the fact that dinner was still, in fact, something that you would have to attend to. The clucking chickens reminded you of that quite earnestly. 

At the last step, you sat down and tearfully rubbed at your eyes with your sleeve. There was so much going through your head at once that it felt… mind numbing, that one clear shore now fogged up amidst the changing tides. Sniffling, you leaned into the railing, your head resting against it in a position that would no doubt give you a splitting migraine later on. Not like it would matter much. Everything hurt. 

“He’s so dumb,” you whispered to yourself, surprising even you. The fact that you were indeed pregnant hadn’t only taken it’s toll on Alastor - oh no, you were just, say, too selfless to focus on your own turmoil, attempting to make sure everyone else was okay before making sure you were. A shaky sigh escaped you as you wrapped your arms around your belly, closing your eyes for a long moment. 

“I’m so sorry your daddy’s so dumb.” You mumbled, taking some comfort in the fact that even when you were alone, you really _weren’t_ anymore. It would definitely take some time to adjust, no doubt. You rubbed soothing circles into the still flat skin below your belly button, trying hard to imagine just what the future now held for you. 

“Go easy on me, okay?” You murmured softly. “I’m not quite sure what I’m doing, but I know _I_ want you and I’m going to make sure I do my best to do right by you.” You could feel tears beginning to gather again, another strong wave of emotion coming over you. “It might not be a fancy life, but it’ll be a good one. I promise…” you choked out.

“... Y’know?” Your voice was shaky as a breeze fluttered forward. “I’m going to figure this all out, even if it’s just you and me.” You scrunched your face up as you slowed your belly rubs to a stop. “You’re _mine_ to me _.”_ You gritted out. “We don’t need those fools. Who cares what they think of us?” 

Society sucked anyways. 

“Well, now.” A soft voice said just behind you; you startled enough to nearly pitch yourself off the step and into the grass. “I’m awfully sorry to hear you say that, honey.”

To your surprise, it was Maggie who moved then to sit beside you. She lifted a hand and cupped your cheek, soothing fingertips brushing away the lingering tears there. Her tongue clicked with maternal sympathy and she sighed deeply, 

“I should apologize for my Allie,” she murmured, a slight grimace on her pretty features. 

“No, don’t.” You croaked out, shaking your head quickly. “I didn’t mean it like that… I just…” you hesitated as you turned your eyes away to stare out into the distance. “I don’t know. I’m sorry.” You whispered then, emotion welling up in your eyes again. 

“Oh now, hush.” She said warmly, taking hold of one hand and patting it. “I can hardly blame you, to be honest.” She heaved another sigh, before shifting slightly so she too could look out over the yard. 

You sat together in a moment of silence, the chickens pecking cheerfully in the grass not far away. Someone down the street, the sound of the trolley rumbled by. The ambience had always been calming to you, especially in the suburbs.

“Alastor,” Maggie began finally, after another few comfortable seconds passed. “Well, my Alastor has always been a little strange. He was a strange boy and struggled to make friends as well as the others did and when he did finally-” She turned back to look at you, a look similar to regret shadowing her face. “That’s to say, dear, he isn’t usually one to be so open with his feelings. Now, I’m not saying he chose to conduct himself properly…”

She trailed off for a moment, a small frown on her face. 

“He’s a complete boob, I know.” There was an edge of exasperation in her voice, but you could still sense some ounce of motherly affection. It oddly made some pleasant warmth bloom in your chest, to see how a mother’s love never truly waivered. “But give him some time. A mother knows things, and I can tell he’s quite taken with you.”

You let out a shaky breath and swallowed thickly. “Can I be honest with you, Mama?” 

Maggie gave the hand she was still holding a squeeze, silently encouraging you to continue. 

“I don’t have a clue what I’m going to do.” You confessed. “You’re the first person that knows except for Mimzy. My father doesn’t know, my mother… My gosh, I can’t even begin to think of what she must be experiencing in Heaven. Joy? Sadness? Disappointment? I am unwed, I am pregnant, and I am _probably_ going to be living on my own if my father gives me the family house after he moves to Mississippi.” 

You paused. “I don’t know if I’ll ever see him or my sister again if I stay and I,” you looked at her then, “I _want_ to stay. I want Alastor to have a place in our child’s life because if I’m being completely honest with you, Mama…”

You took a heavy breath. “I am hopelessly in love with your son.” You confessed, meeting her dark, warm eyes. 

Maggie met your look with one of her own, this one bursting with warmth and affection. She pressed your hand between both of hers tightly and gave you a small smile. 

“It sounds like you do already know what to do, or at least your heart does.” Her smile tightened slightly, but it was still genuine. “Life isn’t easy, honey. It’s not so much the cards we are dealt, but how we handle the play.” 

Before you had time to do much more than give Maggie’s hand a thankful squeeze in return, the door behind you suddenly flew open, the volatility of the action hinting at the person behind it. As though summoned by the conversation between you and his mother, Alastor appeared on the back porch. 

His mouth was opened slightly, as though he had most likely come with some prepared speech, but seeing his mother there made him pause. 

“Speak of the devil.” Maggie sighed. 

She stood then and dusted off her dress. She gave the two of you a close look, in particular her son who seemed to shrink slightly under her gaze. It gave a small part of you great satisfaction to watch his ego take these kinds of hits. 

“I think,” Maggie’s voice was clear and stern as she addressed Alastor. “The two of you ought to have a talk. I’ll come get you when dinner is ready.” And with one last look of ire at her son, she bustled off back into the house, the door creaking slowly shut behind her. 

Without meeting his eyes, you turned back around and went back to slouching against the railing. You didn’t have much to say; in moments like these, you always failed to do much more than sulk in silence. 

There was a long, uncomfortable silence that stretched between you two, and as time continued on, you slowly could feel a mixture of rage and heartbreak churning in your chest. Just as you were about to give in to the urge to just _yell_ at him, his soft voice caught your attention. 

“Do you really think so little of me?” He murmured, although you were still able to hear the slight note of hurt in his tone. It was wholly surprising to hear him speak with such an emotional tone. 

You remained quiet for the longest time, embers of fire spitting in your gut, trying to crawl through you and escape through words of anger that were solely built on sadness. A tidal wave of emotion fell over you in that moment, thoroughly washing away the rage you had felt only seconds ago as you internally battled on how to feel. How were you supposed to feel? 

“No,” you muttered. “No, you absolute fucking buffoon,” your voice cracked as tears began to spill down your cheeks. “Out of all the things I said… you’re focused on the fact that I called you dumb?” _He was. He was so dumb._ “What else am I supposed to say, Alastor, when you basically told me you didn’t want the baby?” You scrunched your fists up. 

Silence.

Your eye twitched.

“It’s A _BABY_!” You finally snapped, and you stood up to face him. “A baby that _we_ created. You remember that, right? Now I am stuck with this reminder, this little creature we created _together,_ while you can probably get off scot free. And you’re worried about me calling you dumb? Is this getting through to you? Of course I don’t think little of you, Alastor, or else I wouldn’t have FUCKED you!” 

You gripped the railing to steady your shakiness.

“I wouldn’t have told you that I love you, you dumbass. I wouldn’t have told your _mother_ that I was in love with you. Honestly, you are impossible! You made me think that you were oh,” you waved your hands around goofily, “- _so_ excited, whispering sweet nothings to me about how we’re both yours.”

You gripped the railing then. “Are we _both_ yours, Alastor? Or is it just _me?_ ”

Through-out your tirade, Alastor had seemed to turn to stone, his long lanky form cemented in place while you verbally lashed him. Hearing the venom in your last words, however, seemed to strike a nerve and before you quite had time to register what was happening, he had caught you roughly by the elbows. 

“ _Enough_.” He hissed, malice noticeable in his tone. For one wild moment, you thought he might mean to shake you as his hands twitched in his grip. “Do you ever stop and give that pretty head of yours a shake?” He snapped, moving to posture over you; from the top step, it made him even more monstrously tall. 

“You forget who you’re dealing with, girl.” Some dark shadow seemed to pass over his face. “I’ll gladly humour your tantrums, but I won’t take your slander.”

He bent neatly at the waist, his nose coming to rest just short of your own as though mocking the intimacy you had shared before. 

“ _Slander?”_ You hissed. “Are you that dense?” 

“No.” His teeth were bared slightly now, as though from the effort of holding himself back. “You’re the one flouncing about, silly little notions in your mind.” He really did shake you then, hard enough that you felt your teeth chatter slightly and your vision swam once he stopped. 

“I warned you.” He murmured, and then, before you had time to react properly, he swooped down and pressed his lips against yours. You did the only thing you thought of doing and tried to push back against him, unwilling to so openly accept his poor excuse for affection - especially at a time like this!

Alastor growled, a low sound you hadn’t heard him make before, and then without warning he had lifted you off your feet so you had no choice but to grab his shoulders and wrap your arms tightly around his neck. Before you could open your mouth to shout back, his lips were crushing yours, teeth nipping slightly at your bottom lip in desperation. He didn’t wait for your response, large hands coming to grip your face and angle your head so he could deepen the kiss himself. 

There was anger, frustration from _everything_ he was doing, the audacity this man had! You hated him. You loved him. You never wanted to see him hurt, but at the same time, _you_ wanted to hurt him. Despite your desire to crack him in his face, your fury was quickly being ebbed away by the kisses you were receiving and, try as you might, the crinkle in your nose that betrayed your aggression was slowly smoothing out. 

But despite it all, with your arms around his neck, you managed to reach up and root your fingers in his hair, your nails painfully digging into his scalp. He was such an asshole, god, you hated him for everything he did and how he was so charming and funny and so… so… A sound left your throat then as you finally gave in. You were so tired of fighting, of arguing, of making false promises and regretting them. 

You hated him for _making_ you fall in love with him to the point where he made every single decision in your life revolve around him. 

This was a game that you could never win. 

And the realization of it made your anger completely fade away and your tears to make a grand return for the umpteenth time. His kisses hushed your sobs as your hold on him grew into a clinging motion, your legs even going so far as to wrap around his waist, your tears staining his cheeks. 

Finally, after what seemed like ages, your lungs screaming for air, the two of you parted, although you remained in his arms, legs secure around his thin middle, mouths still brushing against each other. 

“You’re mine,” he panted. “You’re _both_ mine.” Some of the growl had returned to his voice, and he took a selfish moment to nip the corner of your mouth, just to hear you gasp. “I’m not sure how many more times I’ll have to tell you, silly creature. You’re mine until you return to the weeds.”

Your lip wobbled as you held back even more tears (honestly, you felt like you had been crying forever). “T-then why…” you hiccuped, “Why did y-you act that way? I-I thought…” you leaned forward then to rest your forehead on his as if you were too exhausted to do much else. “I thought you lied about staying. Please don’t do that again, Al, _please…”_

He had terrified you.

For a long moment, Alastor said nothing. He pulled you in close once more, hoping eventually you'd be able to calm down. He wondered briefly if Maggie had overheard it all, but when he cast his eyes back to the house, it was quiet.

Nonetheless, he carefully unwound your legs from his waist and set you on your feet. You wobbled a bit, your exhaustion evident and with a burst of protectiveness yet again, he drew you into his arms once more, allowing you to lean your head to his chest and simply rest your weight against him. 

Because god _damn_ was he exhausting.

Alastor was thrilled you had gotten on so easily with his mother; however, it did now mean you were in possession of another piece to the puzzle of him. This particular fact made Alastor feel a bit uneasy, but before he could ponder on it more, you shifted in his arms, finally quieting until only a rare hiccup escaped you. He cooed your name, selfishly taking a moment to tighten his arms around you - something about the way your smaller form molded to his made him _starve_ for more - and pressed his lips to your ear. 

"Silly girl," He chided softly in a gentle manner, the traces of violence from before long gone. His mood swings were dizzying. "I suppose some part of me was a bit shocked still; it’s not every day a man gets told he's going to be a father..." 

There was a brief pause, your occasional hiccups and the clucking of the chickens the only sounds for a moment. Alastor moved to rest his head on the top of yours, pressing his cheek into your sweet-smelling hair. 

"This is new to me too, dearest. Forgive me for handling it with less than my usual tact."

“No, I-“ Amidst nuzzling your head into his clothing, you effectively cut off your words as you breathed in his scent. 

The amount of stress the man gave you was no doubt something that was unhealthy, especially for the life that was growing inside of you. But you were addicted, you couldn’t get enough of him; each time you pulled away, he reeled you back in tighter in his grasp and you questioned yourself on why you had even tried to leave in the first place. He was the drug that you knew, deep inside, you couldn’t live without. 

“... It’s okay.” 

Your tears had begun to dry up, only trails being left to betray your true emotions only moments prior. You wanted to stay here, _right here,_ until time itself stopped. You wanted him to comfort you, hold you, whisper sweet words and promise you, but you also knew that that was simply an imaginary situation. Alastor had his flaws, but you did too. 

Now it was just up to both of you to make it work.

Somehow.

“Can you just hold me for a little bit?” Your voice was quiet, muffled by his clothing. 

Alastor hummed his agreement, although the quiet back door drew his eye again. He suddenly felt a bit exposed, as though he now wanted to hide you and the child away from everyone else. 

He took a moment to fist a hand in your hair and tilt your head so he could slot his lips to yours, as though a promise of what he couldn't say out loud. 

"Come along, darling." He grabbed your hand then and, with a gentle pull, led you around the back of the house. 

There a window sat; Alastor dropped your hand and moved to the large blueberry plant that was growing abundantly along the sunny side of the house. Here, he pulled out a small boxed crate and set it just under the window. 

He stood on long legs and with a practiced flick of his wrist, was able to shimmy the glass open. He turned then and motioned you forward with a smile. 

"Just a short hop up," he offered his hand, hoping you'd grant him this one small show of trust. "I'll give you a boost."

_But the blueberries…_

Your eyes flickered from the blueberries to his now outstretched hand as if you needed to contemplate giving up the promise of tasting Louisiana-grown blueberries. There was a moment of curiosity, you wouldn’t doubt, but it was not your bush to pick. Maybe later, you thought to yourself, before you laid your hand in his and offered him a small, hopeful thing of a smile. _Hope_. What an addicting thing. 

Stepping atop the crate, you let go of his hand momentarily to brace them along the edge of the window and, with a strength that you didn’t appear to have possessed, you pulled yourself up and into the room without much more than a grunt. When you landed on the carpet, you smoothed out your shirt before turning back around to peer curiously down at Alastor, a smug but gentle grin on your lips. “What?” 

The smile was in your voice at his expression - something that you hadn’t been able to muster only a few minutes ago.

He definitely put you through a shitstorm of emotion.

“How else would I have known about that conveniently placed ladder to my window?” Though, now that you were thinking about it, you had to be a lot more careful, didn’t you? “Guess I’ll have to—Oh, what’s this?” Your eyes flickered off to the side of his room then, and because you were absolutely nosey and you had precious time to snoop around before Alastor undoubtedly stopped you, your attention landed on a picture on his table.

It was face-down, the back having a date scrawled upon it - 1910.

When you flipped it around, you were greeted by a dapper young child holding a rifle along with what you assumed was his father, next to a deer that they had just brought down. The boy couldn’t have been much older than your sister during that time, and the more you focused on it, the more you began to realize that it wasn’t just a random boy and his father, it was _Alastor and his father._

Knowing that it was a particularly touchy subject, you placed it back face-down in hopes that you could pretend it didn’t even happen, but you couldn’t help but wonder briefly in that moment if Alastor would be as present in your child’s life as his own was. At least he appeared to hold some sentiment towards the man. 

Letting out a soft sigh, you finally turned around just in time to watch as Alastor pulled himself up and inside in one strong, smooth movement. He swung his leg over with some odd, practiced ease and drew himself inside looking for all the world like some long-legged spider. He dusted himself off, smile on his lips, and then joined you where you stood. 

One arm wrapped around your waist to draw you in closer, while his other hand came up to rest his first two fingers and thumb at the seam of your lips; with a gentle push, he popped a few ripe, juicy blueberries in your mouth. He had, of course, caught your lingering gaze and thought to indulge your whims. 

He gave you a wink and then licked some of the juice that stained his fingers. “That’s all ’til dinner, darling. Maggie makes the best gumbo in town, you’ll want to save room.” 

Alastor chuckled and then moved to sit on his bed. He gave you a look which meant he clearly intended for you to join him, but the space was enough to imply it was your choice still. He had, admittedly, lost his temper a little too much while arguing with you on the back step, and he knew that some amends were needed. 

There was a moment of hesitation, though you supposed you often thought of potential consequences _half_ of the time, the other decisions you made being solely manifested through instinct and desire; there was a second where it could have been hesitation regarding him, that you weren’t sure if you trusted yourself to be near him, but that was all rather bogus when face to face with him, when his lips were on yours, when his hands roamed your body, when his soft words whispered sweet nothings in your ear that you prayed were true. 

Finally, you took a step forward, some silent question in the air that you yourself weren’t sure how to properly express, and then you closed the distance, your weight lacking the sound against the floorboards as his had. Your mind was replaying the hurt in his voice when he questioned you like some broken record player, looping consistently and without fault. You came to stand between his long legs, your hands slowly coming to reach up to lay one against his cheek and the other on the side of his neck. The silence was flawless.

And yet you were the one to break it. 

“Al,” you cooed softly, the rest of your words falling flat as you let your hands fall to your sides again, though your gaze never left his; until it did, and in that moment, you ceased to care of anything else in that moment other than being _close_ to him. So you leaned into him, your cheek resting on his chest as you stood before him. “... Just know I didn’t mean it.”

The man made some strange, keening sound deep in his chest; your skin sensitive to the vibrations. It wasn’t often that words failed him, and yet you seemed to be in possession of that exact ability. No one else silenced his tongue quite like you and so without saying anything, Alastor slowly leaned back until the two of you were lying on the top of his quilt. 

With gentle shifts, Alastor had you roll slightly in his arms so he could prop you more on his chest, tucking his chin over the top of your head. One large palm came to rest at the small of your back, lazily rubbing comforting circles there. After a few moments, his fingers trailed up your spine until they reached the tresses at the nape of your neck. 

He seemed content to simply twist and tug tenderly on the strands for some time, perhaps lost in thought, although you were unable to see his face from your current position on his lean chest. 

As much as you lived for the soft touches that, if you had allowed him to do it for much longer or if your mind hadn’t also been in a rapid moving whirlpool of emotion, scenarios, and imaginative situations, probably would have even caused you to fall asleep. But if you were anything, you were a worry wart. 

“Why are you so quiet?” You whispered softly, moving your head up to position it in a way that you could press a small kiss to his neck. “Not that it’s bad, it’s just… You’re _never_ quiet.” 

“Well,” Alastor’s voice was strong despite the lack of use. “I must admit my mind is a bit of a jumble…” He gave a chuckle that was borderline nervous; he seemed to notice it as well and cleared his throat as though to cover his lapse. “As much as I’m thrilled at having knocked you up, darling, there are several obstacles between us and a happy ever after.” 

He gave you a squeeze as though to imply his teasing tone, although it was admittedly not far from the truth. The fact remained, you were unwed, from different social and racial backgrounds, and your father was, as of yet, still planning on shipping you off to Mississippi. He knew that perhaps social norms might have dictated rushing you off to the nearest chapel, but Alastor wasn’t one to normally fall within the expectation of those around him, religious or not. 

You knew that he had trouble with talking things out, which admittedly, was frustrating for you; but it was something that you would have to work on. Life was complicated, and you hadn’t been expectant on it letting up its endeavors anytime soon. Maggie had given you a new sense of clarity, and perhaps even the beginnings of being able to be more… patient with him, and so you had the great epiphany in that moment to try it out. You sat up then, looking down at him, one of your hands on his chest while the other propped you up. 

“Lay on me.” You leaned in to press your nose to his in a rather endearing manner. “Let me try something?” 

Alastor looked up at you, blinking owlishly for a second. He had once again been spiraling into a whirlwind of thoughts, made more frantic by the need to filter all the new emotions he was feeling. It made the headache in his temple still more pronounced, but when he caught sight of the look on your face as you squashed your nose to his, he felt his walls crumble a bit. He doubted he would ever stop feeling the pull to simply give in; especially when you looked at him so prettily. 

With his lips curling into his customary impish smirk, Alastor caught you up tightly in his arms and then rolled smoothly, so that he came to rest proper between your thighs, his head now level with your chest. He rested his chin on your sternum, eyes alight with mischievousness. Even when he was stuck inside his head, he could count on you to be entertaining. 

“What do you have in mind, you minx?” His eyes were crinkled slightly. “I’m once again at your mercy.” 

Your eyes were soft despite his attempt to rile you up. It wouldn’t work, not this time. Taking a moment to get comfortable yourself, you brought your hand up to gently thread through his tresses in small motions, never going completely down his head, but just at the base. It was a tactic you had learned when Ruth had nightmares, and you found it worked wonders when calming her back down for the night. 

Whether it would work with Alastor, however, was another story.

“Close your eyes,” you murmured. “Try and quiet your thoughts.” Your instructions were simple enough. “I’m no professional with this but, I guess try to pinpoint the beginning of the problem, if there is one.” You couldn’t help the curious glint in your eyes if you tried. “I’ll do it too, if you want.” You offered him a few moments of silence, continuing to apply pressure here and there on his head while your fingers moved through his roots, careful on the knots.

Alastor made a soft sound of slight disbelief, but closed his eyes at your words all the same. Trying to quiet his thoughts might be a harder task, but as your nimble fingers worked through his hair, it was admittedly easier as time progressed. 

The muscles in his neck began to relax, as did the knot that tended to reside in between his shoulder blades. He was able to hear the gentle thumping of your heart pumping away in your chest, mind’s eye almost objectively mapping the course the veins under your skin would run. It wasn’t long before his breathing began to even out, moving into steady, deeper breaths, and some small part of him wondered if perhaps he should just doze while tucked so closely to you. 

“S’nice, sweetheart.” He muttered, words thick with his normal accent and slightly slurred as though he was drunk. “Keep goin’, _cher_.” 

_It was working._

You weren’t sure what you had been expecting, but it certainly hadn’t been the ability to possess power like _this._ You had been momentarily surprised by the added weight on top of you when he finally relaxed, which showed just how much he had been holding himself off of you, but with a bit of readjustment, you found yourself content once more. He wasn’t heavy, no, but he was a tall man; and that alone packed quite a bit of pounds. A light smile came to your lips then.

“I’m not going to stop,” you assured him. “Not unless you want me to, my love.” In your own state of mind, you barely even realized the title you had given him, and if you had, you would have been undoubtedly nervous and flustered.

Normally, your term of endearment might have been a cause for slight concern (he was still new to such intimacies still, no matter how fast paced your relationship was), but he heard your voice as though from under water, your words drifting to him from some distance.

He murmured your name, moving just enough to nuzzle his nose to the soft valley between your breasts. He caught the faint lingering scent of some flowery perfume you seemed to favor and the salt of your prespiriation that had dried there after the physical production that had been your fight. 

“Not at all,” his lips brushed the light material of your clothing and in a moment of sudden neediness, he brought one hand to the collar and tugged it down just enough that he was able to make skin to skin contact when he pressed his mouth there again. “I’m not used to such things… you’re spoiling me. Going to turn me into some fat, lazy house-husband.” 

You peered down at him with a surge of curiosity, your eyebrows furrowed. _Husband._ If he had been listening to your heart as intensely as he had been earlier, he no doubt would have heard the leap and stutter it took. You opened your mouth to say something, but whatever words you wanted to say were lost to the wind before you could even form them. 

“Mm… I don’t think so.” You smiled, though it was veiled through your words. “Because there’s no way you would be catching me making you dinner every single night, cleaning, _and_ taking care of…” you drifted off after a second, before you let out a soft sigh. 

You barely noticed your own thoughts slipping from your lips. “You know, before yesterday, I thought that life wasn’t for me. It feels surreal, almost, taunting even. I wanted nothing more than to be free of the restrictions that society left on me, for me to become a wife of a man and be that normal, boring predetermined path that fate set me on simply by being female.” Your fingers continued their path down his head. 

“But now I don’t have a choice. I made that choice, we both did already. We knew the consequences and we did it anyway. That was our chance to lead a semi-free life, and now we have a reminder that will be getting stronger with each day.” 

Until one day, they, whoever they were, would be born. 

“I’m excited, terrified, confused, uncertain, and just… stunned, I guess. I’m frustrated with myself and I took it out on you, and probably hurt your feelings, and that just makes me even more frustrated.” You frowned then amidst catching yourself. “Life is funny like that, I guess. You lead your life one way and then the next day you’re on a completely different path.” 

The man listened to your speech, simply allowing you the time and space to get it all out in the open. He had caught the slight jump in your pulse at his words, words he had slurred out in a moment of bliss without thinking of the full consequences, but as you continued on he had to admit he saw your point.

He too had often been disappointed by what the status quo had offered him, and while the struggles of people of color and women were not completely wrapped up in one and the same, he knew what it felt like to be subjugated by those who believed themselves to be higher members of society.

“Merely a good plot twist, darling.” He crooned, nose pressed back to your skin yet again. His breath washed over you and he was pleased to note that goosebumps formed on your flesh. “What I mean, is perhaps in time… things have a way of coming up Aces.” He lifted his head just enough to give you a wink. 

And if they didn’t, well, he would be damned if he didn’t try. For you and the little one growing in your belly. While he wasn’t a man of convention by far, he didn’t doubt that with you by his side, life was guaranteed to be much more exciting than without. 

“You’re stuck with me, I’m afraid.” Alastor’s eyes were nearly slits, his grin was nearly monstrous on his face, unable to keep the teasing tone from his voice. 

“Oh, is that right?” You stick your tongue out at him. “I thought it was the other way around.” A soft laugh escaped you.

Alastor’s laugh echoed your own, “Well, yes.” He admitted, some of the growl coming back to his tone. “For all my worldly experience, who else would have the patience to deal with you, silly creature?” His tongue peeked back at you in retaliation. His hands came to rest at the curve of your waist, slightly ticklish even through your clothing to the sensitive skin stretched over your ribs and hip bones.

He seemed happy enough to pet along your sides, as though you were some cat; his face once again moved to press between the swell of your chest. 

You wouldn’t lie and say that the sight of him nestled there didn’t ignite some hidden flame in your belly, enough so that your body was predisposed to both get away from the ticklish touches, but inclined to have _more_ of his touch on you. 

”Who else would ask for your kisses than me?” It felt odd to ask for such a normal thing, but it was becoming very much a common occurrence between the two of you. “Unless you’re much more of a _dog_ than I anticipated of course,” you moved your head away in a snooty position, self-accomplished. It was all fun and games, though.

It always was.

Alastor clicked his tongue and gently rolled his eyes at your antics; as time moved on he was becoming more adept at reading your cues, able to pick up on your teasing. 

With one pointer finger, he drew your chin back so you would be forced to meet his gaze. 

"Dearest, if you're having to _ask_ for kisses, well then I'm afraid I'm simply not performing to standard." His mouth twitched into a grin before he ever so gently brushed his mouth to yours. 

As soon as you began to press back, however, he pulled back just enough to be able to croon, "I do like the sound of you begging, though, doll."

You narrowed your eyes, and you glared at him (though no cruelty was presented, of course) for what seemed like forever. 

“Please,” you uttered finally. “I want…” you attempted to lift your head to brush your lips against his, “I want to feel your lips on mine.” And then, in that moment of grand stupidity that everyone experiences once in their life, your eyes lit up.

“If not, I’ll make a deal with you,” your eyes immediately went lidded. “... A deal I don’t think you’ll be able to resist.” 

Alastor paused, the weight of your words hitting _him_ of all people perhaps harder than even you were aware of. He licked his lips, as though stalling slightly. Some voice in the back of his mind urged him to jump at the opportunity being presented to him, while on the other hand, he was mildly curious as to just what you were up to. 

“Alright,” he murmured finally. “I’ll bite, sweetheart. What’s in it for me then?” There was an affectionate glint in his eyes, in spite of the heady tension that had come between the two of you. 

“Kiss me,” you breathed, “and you can do whatever you want to me.”

There was a beat, a heavy pause that seemed to hang in the air. Alastor pushed himself up enough that he could loom over you, his weight distributed on his elbows instead of putting any pressure on your middle. His nostrils flared slightly, and his smirk seemed to curl into something a tad cruel. 

It was enough for you to at least feel a bit of discouragement. “As… long as there’s a safe word. If I say it, you stop.” 

“Hmmm…” Alastor trailed his eyes over your face, as though seeking to see if you were truly telling the truth or not. The idea of having your consent to explore, to push at your physical boundaries was _endlessly_ tantalizing. 

“Applesauce.” 

“Applesauce?” You laughed. 

“Do you normally shout such nonsense during carnal events?” His eyes were crinkled again, his excitement building like a bubble in his gut. 

He had a point.

“Applesauce it is.” You couldn’t help but find humor in the situation. 

“Good girl,” He breathed, shifting so he could touch the tip of his nose to yours; it had quickly become ‘your thing’, and he was more than happy to indulge in it. “Then we have a deal,” he purred. 

Within the blink of an eye, Alastor surged forward and locked his lips to mold to yours. He couldn’t deny the hunger for your body had been growing in the pit of his belly, and having you pinned beneath him for this long had done nothing to appease it. While he knew he would have to be more careful given your delicate state, his mind had moved from hyper fixating on the problems at hand, and instead began to formulate a plan for _you_. 

His mouth was almost too harsh against yours; every time you tried to move to allow yourself to suck in air, his lips were there, cutting your supply off. It wasn’t long before he nipped your bottom lip, and when your own instinctively opened to ease the minute amount of pain, his warm tongue flicked against your own. 

Alastor shifted slightly, moving his weight from his elbows to his forearms so he was better able to press you into the mattress. Your soft body was pliable, yielding beneath his so much so that it was nearly an intoxicating power move. He stopped long enough to murmur his appreciation down at you, before once again sealing his mouth to yours all the while breathing raggedly through his nose. 

His kisses were addicting just as much as they were bruising, rough and harsh against your own despite holding some sort of veiled affection in them. For the briefest of moments, you wondered if you could have made a mistake, before you silenced those worries by humming against his lips in an effort to try to get him off just enough to say something. 

It didn’t work.

Therefore, you were left to figure out an alternative in a more… creative manner. Without the tentativeness that you usually had, your hands grabbed at his shirt and yanked it out of his slacks, just enough for you to try to begin to unbutton it. Your own nostrils were flaring as you tried to inhale much needed oxygen, but other than that, you were primarily accepting of his advances and roughness.

At the feeling of your hands gripping his shirt, Alastor finally did break contact with your lips, only to grab your wrists in his own hands and pin them down by your ears. He clicked his tongue as though to scold you, although his eyes were still blazing with a strange mixture of adoration and want. 

“That was imported, darling. Hands off,” he tapped the tip of your nose playfully with a fingertip. “Besides, I believe the deal was _I_ get to do what I want. However,” he paused to give you a close look, before nodding to himself. “If that’s just too much to ask of you, you stubborn dame, I can make it easier, if you wish…”

Alastor abruptly pushed himself up and off of you; by the time you had pushed past your sudden shock at the loss of his weight and warmth against you, he had returned with something in his hand.

Before you had time to argue or give him a sassy quip, you felt the soft silk of one of his bow ties tickle your forehead. With startling speed, Alastor had it draped over your eyes; he lifted your head then with more gentleness than you had expected given he was blindfolding you, and tied a neat knot at the back. He took a moment to smooth your hair down and adjust the tie to his liking and then simply straddled your legs. 

“Loss of sight can tend to make things… _heightened_.” He murmured, taking a moment to selfishly enjoy the sight of you below him; your chest was heaving slightly, your nerves showing despite your consent, and your tongue darted out to wet your lips. It made you even prettier somehow...

But desire it all, you remained compliant. Despite your nerves, albeit it was more instinctual based on your surprise and then sudden _darkness,_ you kept your hands exactly where he had left them, your fingers curled slightly in a semi-relaxed state as you slowly closed your eyes. Keeping them open would no longer help you, and you knew that. 

“Okay.” 

He kissed you deeply again then, unable perhaps to help himself from pressing into you, seeking more of the new comfort he was experiencing through such actions with you. Intimacy had long been a mystery to Alastor, having never had much concern over experiencing such moments with others. 

Therefore, you had an almost sedative hold over him, sparking up passion in him he had long thought impossible. For once, his darker urges were quieted; his desire to see you devastatingly hurt by his hand no longer existed. Instead, he was driven by the need to see just how responsive you could be to his advances. 

Absentmindedly humming some tune now, Alastor pulled back enough to run his hands along the tops of your thighs, his weight still settled mostly over your knees (given the height difference, this made it easiest for him to access your face and body) while his hands continued their exploration, despite the fact you were still wearing pants. 

With a deft hand, he gracefully popped the button and began inching them down your legs. He stopped to press a kiss to each section of skin as it became visible, his mouth hot against you. With a sudden lurch, he had shifted you enough that he was able to smoothly tug your slacks completely off, wearing you bare from the waist down minus your plain, cotton underwear. 

In a moment of brazen confidence, Alastor pressed his mouth to the thin material, letting his breath wash over the sensitive skin just below, albeit, he was entirely aware that you would be able to feel him regardless. 

“Ah…”

Understandably, this was the moment that your hips naturally rolled a bit, a small sound escaping your lips at the sensation. It was cruel, almost, to not be able to feel his tongue completely inside you, to root your fingers through his hair and keep him locked in place as it swirled around that precious pearl of nerves. The sound, you would later come to realize, was a gasp of sorts, his name coming to dance across your vocal chords as a _whine_ \- yes, a whine - was released. 

He wasn’t kidding about the senses being heightened. 

The sound of his name, so deliciously breathy and almost sullen, as though you were pouting under his ministrations, was more than enough to make the last ounce of control he had been trying to hold onto snap. 

Greedily, as though it was to be his last meal, Alastor pressed his tongue to your slick opening, one finger coming to hook your panties to the side; he needed to be able to feel you, without hindrance. He swirled his tongue there in order to collect the arousal that had begun to accumulate, meeting your sounds with a pleased groan of his own.

His nose pressed just right to the small bundle of nerves tucked tightly at the top of your sex. 

“ _Please_ take them off.” 

And in that moment, there was absolutely a pout to your tone. If he wanted begging, he could have it, and before you could stop yourself, the _longing_ to feel some part of him in your grasp, you brought your hands down to try to navigate towards his pretty brown locks.

Sharply, Alastor had your hands back beneath his own, moving so he could pin them with just one hand. The other moved to flick you between your eyes-

“ _Ow!”_

-his grin mischievous (not that you were able to see), “Hush,” he said, having the gall to sound almost bored. “This is _my_ performance, dear.” He shifted back then, moving away from you slightly just as a ‘hmph’ escaped you. 

The sound of him rustling in the nearby side table caught your ears, and you tried to move your head in his direction as though you might be able to catch a glimpse of him. Of course, you weren’t (his knot skills were impeccable) and it was only when you felt his weight transfer back were you able to try and track him better. 

He remained silent, although you knew he was still looming over you. His pattern of breathing appeared to have changed, some slight stutter present as though he had become more excited. It was a jolting surprise then, when you felt the first hint of cool metal trace along your pelvis, and immediately, you jolted back like a normal fucking human being.

“ _Whoa,_ whoa, whoa.” You tried to push yourself back then to get some sort of distance. “Whoa. What is _that?”_ Your expression was all sorts of confused, and you had to stop yourself from ripping off the tie right then and there. 

“My knife.” Alastor stated, as though it was a perfectly reasonable and normal thing to bring into bed with someone. 

“Hold still, darling…” He trailed off; with a quick flick of his wrist, the blade made short work of cutting away your panties, the slightly cooler air of his room hitting your arousal and slick flesh. 

You stilled, your mind reeling from the sudden confusion before it began to piece together the only plausible explanation. He was just cutting the underwear off. Okay. 

This was fine. 

Slowly, you sank back down and returned to your normal position, though admittedly, you were a bit more on alert now because apparently he just had a _knife_ in his bedroom?

And now it was on the bed. You went still. 

Alastor watched as you seemed to grapple with what he was asking of you; admittedly, he hadn’t been too sure of how you would react to his choice, but he couldn’t hold back the happy hum that vibrated in his chest as you settled back. 

“Good girl,” he crooned once again, turning his attention to eye your glistening sex. 

Then, as though to reward you, he moved back down your form and swiftly threw your knees over his shoulders, his lips descending on the crux between your legs once more. The new position offered him some leverage, and he was able to bring his hands down to your hips so he could manipulate you as he needed. 

You may have still been blindfolded, but between the intense feeling of him touching you in such a manner, coupled with the lewd sounds he was making, it was enough for the first sparks of white hot pleasure to begin coiling in your lower belly. 

And soon enough, you forgot the knife altogether.

Your hands, having learned that you weren’t allowed to touch him, made their way towards your sides, grasping at the quilt and sheets as your back arched off of the bed slightly. 

“God,” you whined, the grotesque sounds growing as your arousal did. “Fuck, you feel so good, Alastor.” And then softer, “You feel so good…” Your voice was breathy, wavering through the coos you offered him; your bottom lip coming between your teeth. 

Still buried snuggly between your legs, Alastor gave a sound, half growl, half purr. Just as they always did, your words of praise only urged him on. He moved one hand to mold to your mound, fingers slipping along your folds as his tongue moved to circle your sensitive bud. One finger came to ease inside you, crooking in such a way as to rub against your inner walls perfectly. 

He chanced a look up at your face and happily noted the strained cords of muscle in your neck and the crease of your forehead. It filled him with some heady, masculine pride. 

“ _Please.”_

You were past the point of caring about begging. 

He pulled away from you at last, although hesitantly, as though regretful of having to do so. Alastor shifted above you, coming to rest just over your chest. He nipped at the side of one breast and was rewarded with a sharp inhale from you. 

“I have only one condition, darling,” He crooned down to you; he moved you then, urging you to wrap your legs around his waist so he could settle his hips against yours. 

“Stay quiet…?” You guessed.

The man laughed, the sound almost sinful. “No, sweetheart.” His hand moved to untie the knot at the back of your head, and suddenly you were blinking in the fading evening light. 

“I want you to look at me when I take you.”

The words, the smartass quip that should have naturally left your lips were silenced as a spike of pleasure settled in your belly sharply. Leaning up slightly, you attempted to brush your lips against his. “Anything you want.” You whispered.

He sealed his lips to yours then, mouth urgent. His lean arms hoisted your legs further up and he leaned some of his weight on them, one hand leaving your form to move to his belt and buckle; with some struggle, he managed to free his straining length, the tip brushing against the inside of your thigh and smearing his own slick there. The evidence of your affect on him only made the tension growing in your core flare. 

You were unable to keep yourself from trying to reach out to him, and you were relieved to find that he allowed your touch this time; you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, urging him closer. Your legs tightened around his waist, one heel moving to press him forward. 

Alastor sank into you in one fluid thrust, your inner core accepting him with ease now. 

“Oh, fuck...” you groaned.

There was still a deep sting when he bottomed out, but you had come to relish that moment with almost delirious delight. He eased you into a gentle pace, rolling his hips leisurely, allowing himself to indulge in marking your chest with his blunt teeth before moving to suckle your breast. 

Your nails dug into his shoulders, skin buzzing as though with electricity, feeling both overstimulated and desperately seeking just a little bit more. He had picked up his pace just slightly, just enough to keep you from properly catching your breath amidst his onslaught. Your head seemed to swim abit, as though you were beginning to drown under him-

The kiss of cool metal against your neck caused your eyes to fly open, only to find Alastor’s dark eyes staring back. Your breath stuttered in your chest, dying in your throat before you could do anything more than give some weak moan of surprise. Your legs locked around him, making his hips falter to a stop. Still, he leered down at you, wearing a smile that was, admittedly, much colder than he usually possessed.

“Try not to squirm,” he murmured, eyes flashing with excitement. 

Your jaw had locked in your sudden spike of fear, and so you could do nothing but watch with large, doleful eyes as the knife trailed down to trace the curve of one breast with the dull edge, circling the nipple with the cold, board side. He gave an experimentally roll of his hips, easing himself in and out of your heat, and your slightly parted lips released a soft sound of pleasure.

You sighed, body reacting once more to the feel of him reaching spots hidden so deep inside; your mind hazily tried to remain focused on the knife still on your breast, but when he angled his pelvis in such a lovely way, your clit able to rub against him, those beautiful sparks of pleasure licked up your spine. 

Despite your better judgement, you couldn’t help but to try to reach up, positioning your head to weakly capture his lips with your own. 

A distraction amidst the pleasure and uncertainty of that knife in his hand, something that kept your attention trained on him and, perhaps a bit selfishly, lure a bit more of his affection out of him. The small noises that you made in approval to his movements were in time with his thrusts, only becoming more appealing as that sweet, blissful pleasure built. 

“Trus’you.” You slurred half-mindedly against his lips. 

Intoxicated by him in the most dangerous fashion, you stupidly, naively trusted him; but perhaps that was the humor in it all; where every part of you built up to help you survive was muffled under the hopeful promise of his love that would endure through whatever obstacle the two of you stumbled upon. You could do little more than wince at the sensation of that sharp metal pressing into you just enough for you to take note of it, albeit it was a drunken awareness of it.

Even the fact that he threatened to slice you was not enough to bring you to sobriety. 

You arched your spine a bit to be able to feel his still-clothed abdomen against yours, but you could do little more than croon and whine at the feeling of him stretching you out in that slow, even pace. You moaned against his lips, the sound able to escape you through the space that was there, your eyebrows knitted together in your throes of passion.

Despite the very real threat of him being able to accidentally (or purposefully) stab you or break your skin - the man had a control on the pressure on the blade to ensure it didn’t cut into you _quite_ yet - you couldn’t help but focus on how good he was making you feel. Although, it was practical to assume that you would no doubt feel sore in the following days, especially with how carnal the two of you had been involved. 

“Just like that, baby…” you gasped against his lips, hotly breathing in his own breath. “Just like that…”

Above you, Alastor grunted his approval, and moved to nip your lips, all too happy to swallow your little gasps and moans. Your core clenched deliciously around his length, as though your inner muscles were desperately trying to draw him deeper; your heel came to press lightly to the small of his back, nonverbally urging him to keep his pace. He was able to do so with ease, considering you were _soaked_ , obscene sounds filling the air as he continued to roll his hips into yours. 

“Al - you - feel - so - _good_ -” you moaned, each word punctuated with a corresponding thrust of his narrow hips; his steady pace now meant the coil of pleasure was building in your belly. 

Alastor dipped his head again to mouth your nipple, teeth rolling it gently before salving over it with his tongue; some of the sting remained, but it was hazy beneath your desire. He hummed then in response to your praise, endlessly happy to hear such words fall from your lips. 

Knife still pressed to your flesh but now seemingly long forgotten, you could feel your skin erupt in goosebumps, licks of fire beginning to crawl up your spine at Alastor’s attention. Some small part of you marvelled at how quickly you had come undone beneath him; the combination of his weight and the plunging of his hips, his length buried to the hilt with every thrust, and the sight of him sinfully attached to your breast was almost too overstimulating in the moment. 

Alastor could see you were close, and he couldn’t deny the affect your tight warmth was having on him either. His skin was tacky under his layers of clothing, and a part of him suddenly wished he had thought to undress you both more so he could feel more of you against him (something he grappled with, given his usual aversion of touch from others); however, Alastor was as petty as he was endearing, and he couldn’t help from pushing your boundaries just a little bit more. 

You did look awfully pretty; stretched around him, back arched and flushed from your chest upwards, lips puffy and abused from his ministrations. He shifted slightly then, just enough to move a hand down so he could circle your swollen and sensitive clit. 

As the first signs of your completion began to show, just as the first wave of pleasure began to crest in your core, Alastor withdrew his fingers and stilled his hips; mouth curving in a smirk, he watched with amusement as frustration washed over your features. 

“Not yet,” he said, crooning your name in just the right way for added good measure. 

Your pupils were dilated, your eyebrows furrowing in a mixture of confusion, concern, and distress given the fact that you had just been approaching the edge of that sweet waterfall, the muscles in your belly and thighs twitching from that wonderful friction, before he stopped completely. 

“Why-” You gasped out, your cheeks, neck, and body flushed with your arousal and desire. “Why’d you stop?” 

Edging was a practice that had been off of your radar, so you were more concerned and confused than actually frustrated. Your head lifted slightly to peer over his shoulder as if, some way, the two of you had been caught. Nothing. Slowly, you let your eyes rest upon his again before laying your head against his pillows again and, at last, closing your eyes. 

You were at a loss for what to do, so you did the only thing you could think of and _begged;_ your eyes lidded as you looked up at him through the thickness of your eyelashes. 

“Please, _please…”_ you whined, and you attempted to roll your hips against his but, upon realizing that it was practically physically impossible to do considering your position, you let out a frustrated huff, a pout forming in your voice. 

“I really, really want you to…” your cheeks darkened. Fine, if you needed to stroke his ego, you would. “I want you to stuff me with your cock, you stretch me so good. I want you to plunge into me, I want you to break the bed when you fuck me, because you’re so very strong, I want you…” you tilted your chin up to hover your lips over his. 

“... To give in to your darkest desires.” 

Alastor gave a small shudder against you, your words filtering over him, warmth trickling down his spine. He couldn’t help the chuckle that bubbled up in his chest, his smirk quickly becoming more of a sneer as he leered down at you. He gave a lazy thrust, pleased when your body accepted him readily, as though the pause in your activities had never happened. 

“I’m not sure, darling…” He murmured, eyes sharp and burning in the fading evening light coming in through his window. He shifted so the knife suddenly glinted out of the corner of your eye. He tapped it playfully against your collarbone. “I’m not sure if you could _survive_ having my full, undivided attention.”

Another tap against your clavicle was met with another thrust, his length oh so slowly sinking into you until he nudged your cervix. The small flare of pain was worth it for the fullness he gave you; you fluttered your inner core against him, praying he would move properly again. 

“You see, my dear,” Alastor practically purred down at you, watching as your pupils dilated and your neck arched as you subconsciously tried to match his painfully slow thrusts. 

“My _darkest desires_ are rather unconventional…”

With a glint in his eye that often preceded some less than pleasant experiences for others around him, there was a flash of metal and the cool press of his blade hit your skin, just before a small spark of pain made you hiss sharply between your teeth. 

You were wholly unaware of just how dark his desires ran, but just like his actions, ignorance was bliss. You couldn’t help but peer down at the origin of the pain, watching as rivulets of blood began to pool around the slight incision. The distance of such a sight made it blurry, though, considering you had to angle your head in a way to even look at it. 

There was silence, almost as if he was _waiting_ for some sort of confirmation or sign that you regretted saying such words, but you would have been lying if the idea of bleeding for him didn’t ignite some sort of thrill inside of you. Yes, you weren’t someone who had lost her damn mind or belonged in the looney bin, but you weren’t entirely against trying new things, either. 

So you relaxed against him.

Your attention turned to meet his own brown gaze, a murmur of his name leaving your lips as you tightened your legs around his waist, your hands coming up to run across his shoulders and down to his shoulder blades - there, you dug your nails into his skin and dragged them back up towards you. 

“Eye for an eye,” you whispered against his lips. 

You didn’t have a knife, but you were very much aware that you could cut him with your nails, or at least instill some sort of pain if you were rough enough. Your eyes crinkled in mischievous amusement, before you let your hands return to their place against the pillows. “I told you,” you pushed your nose into the space against his own, slotting your lips together. 

“You can do whatever you want to me, there’s a safe word for a reason, Al.” 

Your eyes darkened. “I’m _pregnant,_ I’m not a glass doll. I won’t break so easily.” To prove your point, you reached up, rooted your fingers through his hair, and yanked him down to you. “So _fuck me_ like the world is ending, _”_ you hissed, daring him by nipping his own lip, “-and tonight is our last night alive.”

Alastor captured your lip just as you pulled back, giving you a sharp tug so it made a soft ‘pop’ when he finally released it. His mouth was on the cut he had created before you had time to truly grasp what he was doing; his tongue laved over the blood that had begun to coagulate there. When he raised his head next, his charming grin was at odds with the crimson now staining his lips and teeth, but you accepted his searing kiss with little hesitation. 

He shifted you slightly, arms moving once again to throw one of your legs over a shoulder, the other left to rest at his waist. The new angle allowed him to thrust even deeper. He started slowly enough, not necessarily because he wanted to, but rather because you were clenching him so tightly. 

“As you wish.” His voice was velvety, alluring despite the cruel undertone that existed.

In no time at all it seemed the two of you were once again chasing the edge of your combined pleasure. 

Alastor’s hips were stuttering against yours; you wondered briefly, as if from outside of yourself and the current sensations washing over you, if you would have bruises on your inner thighs and pelvic bone from his attention. Although his bed frame seemed to be finely crafted (you had a feeling he had built it himself, judging by the look of it), it was emitting squeaks and groans of its own, mixing with the lewd sounds your bodies were creating. 

Needless to say, since you had already been so close to that sweet, ambrosia of a release, it didn’t take you long to abandon all of that previous bravado and harshly push your head back into the pillows, a long whine escaping you as well as a series of ‘yes’s’; your thighs were twitching and quivering, toes curling as you finally gasped out: “Please- please may I cum, please let me cum, please, please, please…” 

Alastor panted your name above you, his breath washing over your heated face. He could feel his own release edging closer and closer, the rhythm in his hips beginning to falter as the pleasure began to coil in his belly. He trailed his fingers over the wound on your chest once more before bringing them to his lips to wet them; once he was satisfied, he moved them to circle around your clit, the nub engorged and almost painful from the onslaught. 

“Yesssss…” He hissed, his fingers nimble against you. 

Just as his peak swelled within him, he rolled your clit between his forefinger and thumb, and felt your walls flutter and then clamp down on his length as your own release finally welled and burst in your core. Although he nearly saw stars from behind his closed lids, Alastor still had enough control over the functions of his mind to raise the knife that had been clenched in his fist upon the mattress, and knick your skin one last time. 

This time, a thin line of red appeared just across your ribcage, longer but not quite as deep as the cut he had administered to your collarbone. You barely noticed, the ebbing pleasure of your delayed orgasm making your muscle quiver from misfiring nerves. 

Alastor had his face pressed to your neck, one large hand coming to rest just as the tip of your sternum, pointer finger lazily drawing circles and twirls into your skin there. You morbidly wondered if it was your blood he was in fact using to draw with, but when he shifted you so he could press himself closer to you, so you were forced to accept his full weight, you found your mind too hazy and overstimulated still to care much beyond focusing on the feeling of his breath on your skin and the warmth of his form against yours. 

He murmured your name, face still slightly hidden from your view; there was a questioning lilt to his tone, as though some part of him was afraid perhaps he had gone too far…

As your wits began to return to you, albeit slowly, your attention fell to the ministrations he was providing you, and the wet, sticky sensation only further caused you to assume that it was either your own arousal he was tracing weird designs with, or in fact your blood. Whatever it was, it didn’t hold your attention for very long, because your heart fluttered at the soft note of your name. With a soft sigh, you leaned your head into his. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

Your words were but a coo, a nickname that he often gave you now returned in the bout of comfort and affection. Your hand came up then to softly trail across the cuts you had made on his back, before moving up to very gently entangle in his locks - light enough that, if he moved, your hand would undoubtedly fall from his head. 

When Alastor did lift his head to meet your gaze, you found his eyes looked to be almost black, his pupils were still so pronounced. There was an odd look in his eyes, regardless - 

“You’re splendid, darling,” His voice was just as gentle as your own, although it was slightly ruined by the fact that some of your blood still stained the corner of his mouth. “You take me so well, I-I, well…” He huffed a breath of air, as though still grappling with the flurry of emotions he felt around you. _Because_ of you. 

Your eyebrows rose in amusement, before you reached up and nuzzled your nose against his softly. “Is Alastor, the infamous radio host from New Orleans,” your lips brushed against his, a soft smile forming on your face, “speechless?” 

He gave you a growl, although it was edged with playfulness, “More like I’m so fond of _your_ little noises, my sweet songbird - why, a man would happily go mute to hear more!” He tapped his chin thoughtfully, the twist of his lips hinting at his mischievousness. “In fact, perhaps I should try to record you sometime. Let the listeners out there get a tast-”

“Hey, don’t ruin the moment.” You laughed. “As much as I adore hearing your voice,” you brought your hand up to press against his cheek, your thumb swiping underneath his left eye. “You have the tendency to talk a _bit_ too much sometimes.” You teased, sticking your tongue out at him for a moment. 

And then you hesitated, your own emotions rolling through you as you stared up into his eyes. You wondered, briefly, if the baby would have his beautiful eyes, his lovely skin that was soft to the touch in all the right places, or even his dark hair that curled slightly. 

“... Do you know how beautiful you are?” You whispered softly, adoration the only emotion that was most prominent. 

Present-day racism was undoubtedly a thing, but you weren’t an active part of that; you had found love in a man that was far more unique and intriguing than anyone society would have acceptably married you off to. You didn’t care.

He was yours, and you would fight for him. 

You loved him.

You opened your mouth, before you slowly closed it. There was a flash of uncertainty in your gaze - you had done this before, and it hadn’t ended well. He probably… didn’t. 

Alastor’s lips twitched slightly downwards at the edges, threatening a rare frown. He caught your hesitation and felt an odd pang in his gut. 

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” He parroted your earlier words, although his tone was less gentle than before, a slight hint of nervousness present. He pressed his nose to yours then, hoping the familiarity of the action would be soothing for you. “Tell me, please.” In typical Alastor fashion, it sounded slightly more like a command than a proper show of manners, but it sounded genuine all the same. 

“I… I can’t.” You pressed your forehead to his. “If I do, I don’t know if I’ll be able to handle knowing you don’t feel the same.”

His lips quirked back into his usual grin. Alastor brushed his mouth against yours so softly it caused involuntary shivers to run down your spine. 

“Try me,” He murmured before capturing your lips with his, once again relying on his ability to emote physically rather than express himself out loud. His lips were dominating, wasting no time in parting your mouth so he could swipe his tongue over the curve of your teeth. He gathered you tightly in his arms then and, lips still locked, rolled the pair of you smoothly so you came to rest just above his hips. His fingers reached to tug a strand of your hair playfully. 

“I love you.” You finally gave in, your forehead resting against his. “I love you more than words can describe.”

Your hands came to rest on his shoulders as you gently lowered yourself to lay practically on top of him, your lips capturing his own with your own untold emotion.

Perhaps it was just the moment, or perhaps it was something that had been silently stirring in your mind ever since he put the idea in your head, or maybe it was some sort of epiphany that had been revealed to you that, coincidentally, would solve every single one of your problems, but the moment you took a breath that lasted about half a second,

“Marry me...” 

Despite the reverence with which you spoke the words, they seemed to hit Alastor like a speeding bullet; he blinked up at you, mind whirling as numerous situations and possibilities began to formulate in his head. 

You were a bold little thing, and after all, his father had told him fortune favored the bold -

“Alright, little bird,” a smile split his face. “Yes, I’ll take your darling hand in holy matrimony.” 

He gave you an all too impish wink. 

At first, you stilled. And then you reeled back to gaze down at him. “REALLY!?” You winced at your own sudden volume. “I mean- fuck, really? You? Me? _Really?”_ And then you narrowed your eyes in suspicion, particularly at his wink.

“... Really?” You whispered. You were very suspicious indeed.

“Of course, my dear!” He booped your nose; some part of him couldn’t help riling you up regardless of the situation. “I think Beauchamp is a fine last name, perhaps I should share it with you.” 

He sat up then, moving to shift you so you were positioned a little higher on his stomach, the height difference less pronounced this way. One hand came to cup your cheek and Alastor pulled you closer so he could press a kiss against your lips. It was an oddly soft thing, hesitant and yet he lingered, as though unwilling to completely part from you. 

“I get to keep you now,” he murmured, nose tracing the curve of your cheekbone. “Your father can’t cart you off to Mississippi with my ring on your finger.” The fire of possessiveness stoked to life in his gut, hands curling to grip your sides. “I’ll build you a nest, little bird, somewhere away from everyone but us and the babe in your belly.” He pressed a series of kisses down your neck, mouth hot against your skin.

“Give me time, I’m not a rich man but I’m on my way- I’ll give you a comfortable life, a life you won’t be ashamed to lead…” His eyes darted to meet yours as he lifted his head. 

Amidst his emotions spilling from his words, you had completely evicted your body, everything feeling like some sort of slow-motion recording of a picture show. The words were filtered through your mind, understood, and laid to rest, but you couldn’t will yourself to do much else than peer up at him as he looked down at you. When you finally moved, however, it was to only bring your face to his, your nose fitting securely in the space of his own, lips brushing against his own as your mouth parted to form words that just didn’t escape you.

But when they did, they were so full of emotion that made it difficult to breathe.

“I don’t need a rich life,” you began, “I don’t want to be on the papers, or headlines, or have cameras flashing when I walk by. I don’t need that. I don’t need pieces of green paper at my disposal to be happy.” You brought your hands up to cradle his face, “I just want you.” You whispered, leaning into him fully then. “Nothing else, no fancy homes, or cars, or extravagant furniture- just you. You, Alastor Beauchamp, are enough.” 

He pressed a kiss to each of your eyelids, shifting just enough so he could reach without disturbing you from his chest, “Then you have me, for eternity.”

Ever the ham you knew him to be, he lifted his hand and offered you his pinky. His eyebrow quirked as though baiting you, despite the childishness of the action. 

Your eyes flickered between the pinky and then to his eyes, before going back to his pinky; before long, a grin stretched across your face, a laugh escaping you. You would never understand him. “You’re adorable,” you cooed through your laughter, shaking your head before raising your own hand and wrapping your own pinky around his. 

“Pinky swear, Mr. Beauchamp,” you settled down in your giggles, before your head came to lower to his neck; your lips pressing tenderly against his flesh.

“I’m yours for eternity and a day.”


	9. The Chapter That Is Almost 22,000 Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> content warnings: explicit sexual content, anxiety, “paranormal” occurrences

When you awoke next, you found yourself to be particularly confused; cloaked in darkness, crickets outside and the soft wind the only ambience to be heard, and lying in a bed that _wasn’t_ yours. There was a warm body next to you, the pressure of an arm curled around your waist the only incentive that it was a man and not… whatever your half-conscious mind was attempting to explain it to be. The curtains fluttered from a small draft, cooling the room in a comfortable temperature and causing you to be that much more appreciative of the source of warmth at your side.

It was evening when you finally roused, and upon realizing that amongst a thousand other memories suddenly slamming into you full force, you slowly peeled the quilt away and moved Alastor’s comatose arm from you. The entire situation set your heart to another sphere of reality, a gentle smile appearing on your lips as you leaned over and pressed your lips to his forehead. You lingered there for a moment.

… Another moment.

Before you finally pulled away, brushed the hair out of his eyes that had accumulated from tossing and turning, and slipped out of the bed. With no prior experience in his room, you couldn’t navigate it well and, because of such, you stumbled into a drawer with a small ‘ow’. A wince formed across your expression, stilling in your movements and, once you heard no sign of him stirring from his slumber, you continued on. 

There was your bra and shirt, your pants… and your underwear that were useless now. Fine. If he cut them up, you would just have to wear a pair of his, because if you had to be crafty, you sure as hell would be. From the silhouettes of the room and the fact that your vision was adjusting to the lack of light, it didn’t take you long to navigate towards the bureau. 

The top drawer had glints inside that you closed immediately upon realizing what they were. He really had knives in there. Nope. No way. You weren’t going to question it. Not right now, anyways. The second drawer was… you stuck your hand in and felt socks. Socks. You closed it gently, before pulling out the third drawer, and you heard that innermost voice stating ‘bingo’ when you felt the fabric that was familiar to you. 

Blindly grabbing a pair, you slipped them on and… they fell right off of you. God damn it. A frustrated sigh escaped you, before you pulled them up once again and this time, held them with one hand while the other pulled your pants up. Finally, you managed to button them up, albeit they probably looked a bit bunched from the added layer of clothing beneath it. 

To say the least, women’s pants in your day weren’t tailored to support men’s briefs beneath them. 

You didn’t give a rat’s ass, though.

It wasn’t like anyone was going to see you or, at the very least, be able to see the fine details in this lighting. The least the boob could do was give you a pair of his surprisingly comfortable underwear, especially when you thought about how sore you actually were. A pang of pain reverberated in your thighs, near your collarbone, and the space between your ribs as you paid attention to it. 

“Ouch.” You whispered, before tip-toeing towards the door (which you could make out through the dim lighting now). Your fingers were just stretching out to try and grip the handle - 

The hand that landed at your waist was firm, while the one that came to press against your mouth was warm and calloused - your yell was muffled all the same just as you were yanked backwards. You stumbled but thankfully were caught by lean arms and ultimately pressed tightly to a firm chest. 

"Where you goin'?" Alastor mumbled into your hair; he had all too happily pressed his face to the back of your head, holding you to him like a child would a doll. His accent was heavy, plagued with the remnants of sleep. 

"Come back to bed wit'me..." He trailed his lips over the shell of one ear for added effect; he delighted, even through the foggy haze of sleep, at how you shivered in his arms.

Alastor had never been much of the type to laze about in bed; life was too short to sleep in his mind, especially when there were new and exciting things in the world just waiting.

However, he had admittedly become rather fond of the way you felt next to him - he was a hedonist at heart. Without waiting for your consent, the man hoisted you up in his arms bridal style and then promptly returned you to his bed. 

He laid you down with surprising gentleness so your head hit the pillow, and then seemed to melt into you, laying his own lanky form down on yours so his head once again came to rest on your chest. Eyes closed and with a small smile on his face, he cooed your name and (much to your surprise at the outward affection) nuzzled his face further into you.

One of his hands came to trail down your side, mapping your curves until he reached the waistband - 

"Are you wearing my…" Alastor lifted his head abruptly, slight surprise jolting him awake. His voice sounded closer to his Trans-Alantic tone, his wits beginning to return to him. 

He gave the trim elastic of the waistband a sudden, sharp tug; the effect was less than he desired given how big they were on you.

"Thief," he teased. 

You couldn’t help the soft laugh that fell from your lips at the entire situation. It was all a bit silly, if you were being honest, but you _adored_ it all the same. “Unique situations call for unique solutions,” you giggled, bringing a hand up to gently trace his spine through his clothing. “Maybe if you hadn’t cut my underwear, I wouldn’t have had to use them.” Your voice held a playful tone, your eyes attempting to find his even in the dark, but you came empty-handed at the last moment. 

You rested your head back into the pillow.

“They’re comfy.” You said after a moment, a gentle sigh being released. The gentle touch, soothing in some ways but holding a subtle curiosity (because how often were you able to just _cuddle_ him?) had you bring your fingers to lightly lace through his locks. “God, your hair is so soft.” You huffed. 

You were jealous. 

Alastor gave a short laugh, breath washing over your skin so that it pebbled in goosebumps, your senses heightened slightly in the dark. 

"Maggie always cursed it when I was younger, said it was somehow harder to tame than hers." His hand came up to move yours so he could lace your fingers together. He brushed his lips over your knuckles before rolling swiftly off you. 

Soft light invaded the room rather suddenly; Alastor had crossed the room and lit the small lamp that sat on his dresser, and you winced in response, draping your arm over your eyes. 

“A warning would be nice next time, thank you!” You complained. “And here I was, nearly breaking my ankles trying to cross your room in the dark…” So maybe he was starting to rub off on you - his behaviors far too easily picked up on. 

That stupid grin was on your face, betraying you. “That light is going to be the death of me. It _burns._ ” Now you were just filling in the role of being over dramatic.

His long legs carried him easily back, crossing the small distance in just a few strides. He dropped himself next to you and pried your arm away from your face so he could press his nose to yours. "Hmm, yes." Alastor’s voice was low. 

"I don't believe a career in home invasion is in your future, darling." 

Your breath washed over his lower face, your eyes lowered amidst the lack of distance. “Is that right, Mr. Beauchamp?” You whispered. “And I suppose you know what’s best for me.” A disbelieving, playful scoff. “I could be the very best home invader, thank you _very_ much. I could even get a gold medal.”

Alastor pulled back enough so the full effect of his smirk could be seen. "No offense, dearest, but it sounded like a small farm animal was loose in my bedroom." He had the nerve to pinch your cheek. "Bronze at best."

“Bronze!” You gasped softly, as if this entire conversation was some sort of secret (in truth, it sort of was). “ _Silver.”_

Were you trying to negotiate a medal on home invasion? Yes, yes you were, and you were damn proud of your attempt. “I bet you sound like a _large_ farm animal!” Your comebacks weren’t the best, but you were trying here, alright? 

"Wicked woman!" Alastor groaned; he reeled back from you, shifting to sit on his knees, all so he could press a dramatic hand over his heart before neatly falling forward so he could crush your small frame to the bed.

His voice was muffled when he spoke next, his face stuffed in the material of his quilt. "You'll be the death of me…" 

Try as you might, you couldn’t out-dramatize the drama king in his own kingdom. 

After a brief struggle to get him off of you, you finally settled under his weight with a huff. You huffed beneath him, muffled by his own shirt. “Not allowed to die, sorry.” You weren’t sorry at all. “If you do, then you’re taking me down with you.” You couldn’t help but be hit hard with the subject of death, considering you had countless run-ins with it - especially during this time. 

Everyone’s immune system was shit. 

You, however, were young. You weren’t trifled with the dangers of a pandemic like elders or babies were; but that didn’t mean you were out of the clear. Feeling a bit sentimental, you brought your hand up to meet his own, attempting to intertwine your fingers together. “In this together, ‘member?” You closed your eyes and leaned up (to the best of your ability) to kiss his shoulder which, unfortunately, was covered. 

A soft sigh escaped you as you tried your best to move the collar of his shirt away with your head movements alone, though, it did nothing but ruffle it even more and make you look very, very silly. “Can I take off your shirt?” You finally gave up. “Not for sex,” you whispered gently as if reassuring him. As good as he felt, you weren’t sure if you would be able to walk come the morning. You were _already_ sore. “I just wanna hold you without it in the way. Just wanna feel you.” 

Because you were sentimental right now, okay? 

Alastor eyed you closely, before shifting to lean back on his heels, so he was propped over your form. This made your grip on his admittedly rumpled shirt drop and he watched curiously as some flicker of disappointment washed over your features...

He supposed he had long known how you felt towards him (you hadn't been too shy); as Alastor stared down at you, he couldn't deny he wasn't sure if he could ever return your affection fully.

After all, he had never felt attraction or the need to court anyone. 

Physical desires were not generally something he was familiar with (although that was quickly changing the more he explored what you offered him carnally) and he generally found the thought of closeness with another brought him a uncomfortable mix of anxiety and ignoring the urges of his darker side -the latter was something he was not used to doing -

Until you came along. And suddenly the thought of having you anywhere but by his side or warming his bed was too much.

Which is why when your silly little head had prompted you to ask him to marry you, he had gone with the new development, his head immediately filling with the solutions this brought. In spite of his initial dislike of the whole institution, there were benefits - 

"Al..." Your quiet voice seemed to reach him as though from some far off plane. 

"Patience," he crooned down at you, coming out of his moment of dissociation. He had the gall to boop your nose, one long finger coming to tap against its tip. 

Alastor's mouth twitched upwards into some lop-sided thing, and then with an all too familiar overdramatic wave of his hand, he motioned for you to again reach for his shirt. You were clearly in some emotional state and given how he had acted the night before, testing your boundaries he had, the man had a hunch this particular situation should be at your pace.

You had to be honest with yourself in that moment.

The two of you had been going so ridiculously fast that you felt a bit out of breath. _Patience,_ he murmured to you, and you, just as he had been only seconds ago, felt yourself slipping into a transition of thoughts, worries, scenarios, and questions that you weren’t sure ever would be fully answered. 

The man was an enigma; he offered you answers that were just enough to satisfy you in the moment but never fully answer your inquiry. If you thought about his behaviors a bit more, fully delved into the hows and whys, you would have probably begun to pick up on the inkling suspicion that he was being careful. But for what, you could never truly be sure. 

Trust was a thing that you had learned to be fickle, and as much as you wanted to believe you knew every little thing about the man that had gotten you pregnant, you barely knew him at _all._ You held onto that anxiety that he would eventually leave and abandon you to lament on your mistakes and choices no matter how many times he explicitly told you that he wouldn’t. The entire situation scared you shitless. You - a mother? It was laughable!

But here you were, and you were slowly beginning to come to terms with it. You weren’t sure if you truly believed in those cards, but you couldn’t help but notice how convenient the answers had been. If it hadn’t been for your lack of a period and the nausea and morning sickness, you would have had a harder time believing it to begin with. And… and what about earlier?

Were they words spoken out of passion? Or truth?

You took in a deep, audible breath; albeit it had a shaky undertone to it, before your eyes fell off of his to flicker down his body.

He sure was a handsome specimen, you couldn’t deny, and you were pretty damn sure he knew it, too. He had the ego of a God. Offering him one last tentative glance to make sure it was alright- where had this anxiety come from? -you began to slowly unbutton his shirt, watching with an almost child-like curiosity as more and more of his body became revealed to you. It wasn’t like you hadn’t seen his chest before, no, but it was the first time in this specific lighting that you were able to make out the intricacies of his lean musculature. 

When you had unbuttoned it completely, you sat up, albeit with a bit of difficulty considering he was on your hips, but once you did, you let your palms press down just below his ribs. He was so warm. You had always been the type to show affection through physical contact, the words often betraying you, so as you brought your head closer, your hands beginning to very slowly remove one of his sleeves, you pressed your lips to his flesh as it became visible. 

The silence almost made it more intimate.

Once he was out of his one sleeve, the fabric only being held up by his one arm now, you pulled your head away and repeated it with the other arm, your warm breath falling over his skin in a tantalizing pattern before he, too, escaped the other sleeve. 

The fabric pooled behind him, resting on your legs, but you made no move to shift your attention to it as it was focused on something else. “You have scars…” you whispered softly, a questioning lilt to your voice. Your eyebrows were furrowed as you leaned back to observe the bit lighter complexion on his skin; they almost had a red hue to them, but they looked old. Faint, as if they had years to heal.

He wasn’t littered with them by any means, but he did have a handful scattered around here and there. Hesitantly, you brought your head closer and brushed your lips over one on his shoulder. You couldn’t lie and say your curiosity wasn’t piqued, but you doubted this was the time to pester him with life stories. 

Though, if you were being honest with yourself, you wouldn’t say no to them. 

“So warm.” You pressed your hands a bit harder to him this time, feeling as his abdominal muscles quivered for a moment against your touch, all the while pressing sweet little kisses up to his sternum. And then, with a sigh, you pulled back enough to meet his gaze for a second, before leaning up and pressing your nose to his, squishing them cutely together. 

“You can feel me, too… if it makes you feel better.” you brought your hands to his cheeks, running your thumbs just below his eyes. “Because I think we really need to talk some things over, baby.” You pressed your nose further into his, before leaning back to lead his hands down to the hem of your shirt.

But that was all you did, because the next moment you simply flopped back onto his pillows.

During your moment of exploration while removing his button up, Alastor had barely moved except when you prompted his arms to lift or when his skin shivered at your touch. The pair of you had shared such intimate touches before in various means, but there was something about how gentle your touch was, how revered you seemed to be at the sight of his flesh that helped calm his nerves enough to stay still and simply allow you your moment. 

He raised an eyebrow at your words, part of him caught up getting your permission to touch you just as you had him and what that might allow him to _do_. However, at the determined look on your pretty features, he traced a nail over the thread in the hemline of your shirt before moving to begin removing it from your body, knowing you were in fact right. 

“Hmm,” his large, warm hands gently began pushing material up your still-flat tummy, thumbs taking the time to brush here and there; he seemed to have mapped your ticklish spots, and of course made sure to stroke over them with the pads of his fingers. 

“I do suppose you’re right. Perhaps a talk is in order.” 

He had managed to roll and tug the shirt up to just above your breasts, before your body weight and the position of your head on his pillow put a stop to his smooth movements. Without even hesitating, Alastor simply grasped the front in his two hands and -

_Riiip_

The man threw the scraps of your clothing over his shoulder (they landed with a soft sound over by his own dresser) and smirked down at you. For a moment, the power balance had swung decidedly in your favour and while it was something he was more than happy to indulge for you, Alastor did pride himself on his ability to remain in control. Ripping your clothing had offered him a small moment of his own luxury.

You, however, were surprised and suddenly a bit annoyed at the fact that he had ripped _another_ pair of your clothing. A huff escaped you - “You have a thing for ripping clothes, Beauchamp?” Ever since learning his last name, you couldn’t help teasing it on your tongue every living moment you had. It sounded _exotic._ “You know,” you murmured, looking in the direction of the clothes that he had tossed… somewhere. 

Despite the light in the room originating from the small lamp, it was still plenty dark, and the shadows engulfed the majority of the area where the light couldn’t reach. 

“By the time I leave, I’m going to be wearing your clothing. _Only_ your clothing.” The small amount of annoyance you had felt faded away into amusement, a curious and intrigued expression forming upon your face as you tilted your head back to look up to him. 

“You look best in my clothing, darling.” He purred down at you, smile more genuine than it had been previously. “You should wear _only_ my clothes.” He trailed his eyes over what was exposed of your form. “Or nothing. Preferably nothing, but alas!” 

Alastor dropped himself suddenly, so he landed on his propped elbows enough to have you take his full weight; it was still enough for the abrupt change in his position to catch you off guard with a ‘ _hrk’_. He couldn’t help himself from pushing his nose to yours, eyes mere slits as his grin grew. 

Your eyes closed lightly then, and in that moment of shared innocent intimacy, you let yourself melt into a world of security and safety - it was difficult not to feel safe around him, especially in tender moments like these where he allowed your affectionate touches and inquisitive requests of different degrees. 

He was also, by far, one of the tallest men you had ever met, and while he was lean, he had a strength that betrayed just that. Afterall, he had just picked you up as if you weighed no more than a feather. With a shared breath, you rubbed your nose against his, a gentle smile forming on your lips. It had quickly become an act of comfort to you, and it seemed to be the same for him as well. “Mm… I’m not sure how much your mother would like me walking around with nothing on, Al.”

And then you hummed a silly note. “But maybe if you tell me your thoughts, I’ll…” you brought your hands up to his shoulders and made some unintelligible design upon them, “... Think about it.” If you had to appeal to his darker (and dirtier, who would have thought?) mind to get some answers, you would. 

The man seemed to stiffen at your words, and the telltale sign of his nerves - his tongue peeking past his teeth - was clear. Your natural curiosity made you a fine partner-in-crime, but it also meant he needed to prepare for your inevitable questions. 

He sat up on his haunches then, balancing just over your hips once more, one eyebrow quirked quizzically. Something akin to mistrust (or, you wondered briefly, was it wariness?) flickered over his face, but he quickly hid behind a small, close-mouthed smile. 

He often made you feel as though you were being x-rayed, and this moment was no different as he eyed you closely, taking a moment to remove his glasses and wipe them with a corner of the quilt.

Building suspense was always a good tactic...

"If I may be honest with you, sweetheart," Alastor adjusted his glasses back on his nose, looking haughty and rather smug as though he wasn't half dressed and thoroughly rumpled looking. "I'm not quite sure what else you expect to be in my thoughts given - " and he gestured to your prone form, one eyebrow quirked to match the curve of his smirk.

As though to truly sell his point, Alastor leaned down until he was able to just reach you. He pressed a kiss to the point just between your breasts, lingering a moment selfishly to brush his nose along the soft skin. 

"How utterly beautiful you look on my pillow." He lifted his head just enough to give you a wink. 

When in doubt, pull out the charms. 

But, unfortunately, you knew what he was doing. 

Despite not knowing him as well as you should have, given your intimacy (at least you were trying to), you were able to pick up on his quirks and, obviously, because he was a male, the boyish intelligence of stale bread when it came to situations like these. You blinked down at him with your eyebrows raised. “Nice try,” you offered with a lopsided smile - at the very least, the action did cause your heart to skip a beat, and his words didn’t help you out either. 

With a roll of your eyes, you pushed yourself up onto your elbows, raised your right hand, and attempted to narrowly push him away, albeit there was a playful undertone to it, and if your smile said anything, it was the fact that you were very much enjoying the teases you were able to bestow upon him.

“Come on…” you groaned, before falling back onto the pillow when, of course, your actions were for naught. 

“I don’t mean to ruin the mood, Al, but can we please try and be adults for a second?” You paused to look up at him with those big eyes that you just _knew_ would have to do something.

“I just… You told me there were hurdles to figure out before a ‘happy ever after’,” you quoted, making bunny ears with your fingers. “So tell me what you meant. That’s what I mean about talking. Talking about the future, the baby, I asked you to _marry me -_ I have a lot I’m thinking about, and you barely share what you’re thinking about, so I’m pretty sure you can understand why I _really_ don’t believe you when you say you’re not thinking anything.” You took a deep inhale then after your word-vomit. You were worried and stressed _out_.

You moved your hand back to his face, and booped his own nose. “So start talkin’ or I’m gonna put on…” Fuck, your shirt was ripped. You narrowed your eyes. “I’ll put on _your_ shirt.” You threatened. You didn’t have much to threaten him with, to be fair.

Alastor hummed, still leering down at you. Some small part of him savored the small flicker of agitation that traveled across your face, your body language telling him how nervous you were, just as much as your verbal ranting did. 

"You drive a hard bargain, little darling." 

He shifted to once again lay himself against you, seemingly intent on at least claiming the contact of your skin for consolation. He settled his cheek against one breast, a hand coming to rub at the soft skin of your side. 

"I've had many thoughts," Alastor murmured, keeping his eyes trained on the path his fingers were tracing.

There was something about your doe eyes and baleful, open look that made some maddeningly fierce wave of possessiveness in his chest and he found himself too caught up in you. It was somehow a bit easier to give you a taste of honesty if he didn't have to face you head on. 

"I suppose, the main event should be telling your father-" He paused and shifted, as though working out a burst of nerves. 

"You won't be going to Mississippi, so it's only fair he be able to adjust his plans..." The man was rambling now, clearly following some long train of thought. "We'll want to get married before you start to show, keep the gossip down for a while at least. Someone will eventually add the math together but we'll deal with that..." 

His hand moved up to palm your breast, his thumb ghosting over the nipple so that it pebbled in the cooler air of the night. He understood you needed to recover from his affections, but he was a greedy man after all and still allowed himself soft touches. 

Alastor trailed his hand off your chest to slide down the valley of your breasts, down your front until he came to pause over the still-flat plane of your belly. 

"I'm sure I can build a suitable enough house before the child comes," He still spoke low, his nose half pressed to you. "Although I have a feeling Maggie might expect you here in the meantime… you can settle in after the wedding-" 

“You still want to marry me?” 

You couldn’t hide the evident surprise in your voice, and you didn’t dare try to. Your tone was soft, lilted at the ending note as if your emotions had, for just a second, gotten through the thin veil you had put up. “You want to be mine like that? Til death do us part, that whole thing?” The skepticism in your words were almost teasing, but held a bigger truth than the two of you were even prepared for.

Alastor, after all, did not seem like someone who ‘settled down’. The subject of marriage frightened you to some degree, particularly because it was so incredibly important. 

You didn’t want to mess it up, and for a brief second, you wondered if you could truly be happy with him for the rest of eternity. It was no lie that he was a stressful individual, but it _would_ be one to say that you didn’t love him. Each moment that he entered the room, each time he held you close, each time you breathed in his scent and buried yourself into his chest made those little spats and aggravations worth it. 

Deeply inhaling, you exhaled through your lips, the air ruffling his hair slightly. The entire situation was ridiculous. Blasphemous. Pregnant and unwed - almost unheard of. It was social suicide. “Listen,” you paused, bringing your hand up to run through his thick, almost curly locks soothingly. He had liked it before, and you hoped he would like it again. 

“I don’t want to do anything you don’t want to do, but we’re running out of time. We have nine months before our son or daughter,” god, that felt weird to say (it even made chills run up your spine), “-is born. We only have a few weeks until my belly starts growing, and once I start to show, the rumors start.” Because you were such a worry wart, you had already been secretly going over solutions from the very beginning.

You curled a strand of hair around your index finger before letting it go, a beat of silence as you returned applying pressure to his head in different places. “So unless you have any better ideas, since you’re in this for the long haul - otherwise, I will stick my foot so far up your ass you will feel it in your throat - we either have a small ceremony, just us and y’know, friends and family if you want, or I stay here or at my own house for nine months without leaving.” 

With your other hand, you rolled your wrist in the air. “Just… disappear off the radar.” You dropped your hand onto the bed. “‘S up to you, Al. We’ll figure this out together.” A murmur then as you sweetly brushed his hair out of his eyes. Lightly then, you brought your other hand down to the one that was hovering over your belly to lead it to the breast that wasn’t being laid upon. Gently, you rested his hand there.

Despite being amidst a much-needed talk, you couldn’t deny the effect he had on you. Goosebumps broke out along your skin then at the temperature change, his warm hand above a sensitive spot that had otherwise laid unaffected by the room and night air.

Alastor's hand twitched against your skin from its new resting place. He was grateful for the extra contact, the option to knead and stroke your flesh had the ability to keep him grounded in the moment. 

His face was still half hidden on your other breast when he muttered, "I will admit I never thought I'd take a walk down the aisle," he huffed a breath, warmth tickling across your chest. "But it does seem the proper course of action. It's certainly the expectation… we won't have a smooth run of it, of course, but it's a start, a way to at least get our feet under us." 

The man lifted his head just enough to be able to meet your gaze head on, his smile a little wider than it had previously been. 

"Besides what better way to let everyone know who you belong to," he purred up at you, “-then with my ring on your finger and my child in your arms?"

The hand still attached to your chest gave you a teasing squeeze, forefinger and thumb coming to roll your nipple between them. His eyes traveled to watch more goosebumps rise on your skin, mind still turning over his options. 

If he were completely honest, he wanted nothing more than to snatch you up, hide you away from the rest of the world so he could greedily continue to have you wholly to himself; however, this would take time. It would take time to build your trust, to begin isolating you, to make sure you wouldn't _leave him_ …

The man shook his head suddenly, like a drowning man vainly trying to shake water from his ears. While that scenario was an easy distraction, it wouldn't do to dwell on the future without first laying the stepping stones. 

Alastor pressed a quick kiss to the top of your ribcage, just under the swell of one breast, hoping it might hide any possible hint of his inner desires that could show on his face. 

"As much as it pains me to say it, dearest, something small may be best. Draw less attention to ourselves until we have it all sorted." 

The amount of relief that found its way across your entire being in that moment was nearly astronomical. He _wanted_ to marry you - it was a very real desire that he still harbored deep within himself, and to say the least, you couldn’t help but feel your heart skip a beat. Before you could even stop yourself, you leaned on your elbows to right your body before quite literally tackling him with your arms and legs (to the best of your ability considering you were still beneath him). 

_Joy._

Completely disregarding his preferences, you wrapped your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist, your head dipping down to nuzzle into the crook of his neck, just as a small laugh escaped you. “Jus’us.” You murmured, and if the term had existed, you would have gladly stated that you were in fact bear-hugging Alastor; or perhaps you were simply clinging onto him like he was your lifeline. “Our secret,” you whispered just below his ear, before you angled your head to his and began absolutely going to town with peppering kisses all over his cheeks, chin, jaw, forehead, and nose. 

Honestly, it was just anywhere you could reach at this point. 

You tightened your grip on him so he wouldn’t be able to escape your deadly grasp. He was yours now. Forever and always. And there was jack shit he could do about it. 

“ _My_ secret.” You mumbled between kisses, before finally letting up on your affection attack only after kissing the tip of his nose with a rather endearing, genuine smile. 

While he couldn't deny being caught off guard slightly by your sudden rush of affection, once the initial shock at the touch wore off, Alastor found he was rather more than happy to simply let you continue on. It seemed the more he grew comfortable with you, the easier it began to be to take your abrupt intrusions on his personal space. 

It was still new to the poor boy. 

He had, admittedly, grown up rather lonely. Making friends had been hard -given his strange tendencies towards the macabre- even in his own community, and so his mother had simply thrown as much of an education at him as she could. Music, art, literature and language; every penny Maggie had been able to scrape together and save was used to give her boy better opportunities than she had. 

He was intelligent, cunning, and well educated. 

And just a tad touch starved. 

Your effect on him was maddening… He was incredibly egocentric after all, and your clear devotion and loyalty for him fed his ego quite unlike anyone else had before. 

Therefore, while your lips were busy pressing to every inch of his face you could reach, Alastor had simply wrapped his arms around you to pull you in even closer. 

Now, as you whispered up at him, there was an oddly pleasing warmth settling in his gut. Deep in his chest the sense of _mine_ was back, this time more of a smoldering ember of contentment rather than a raging blaze of need. 

He cooed your name once; then again a second time, the sound similar to a gentle sigh. He settled his chin back down on your sternum, eyes closed like some lazy, sunbathing cat. 

As affectionate as you were, the affection that you showed him in particular was different than the type you showed your sister, or perhaps even a friendly stray roaming the streets of New Orleans. 

Unable to continue smothering him in kisses due to the position, you laid your head back against the pillow and, before he could react, you plucked his glasses off of him and put them on. “Oh my god,” you laughed. “Your vision is _horrible.”_ There was a playfulness in your actions and tone, your pupils constricting and dilating as they struggled to focus with the prescription that was _not_ made for you.

It was weird seeing the world through the fuzziness and dizzying blurred silhouettes of distant objects. 

Listen, if he could tease you, you sure as hell could too.

But before curiosity could kill the cat, you took them off (not because you necessarily wanted to, but mostly because it was causing an ache in your head and a crinkle in your nose to form) and gently placed them back on his face. “But at least they’re stylish on you.” Your smile softened then, before you silently went back to taking your fingertips through his locks. 

Alastor blinked, allowing his eyes to adjust to the return of his glasses, but he made no other signs of moving. His body felt as though he might be able to melt into you, your fingers still combing through his hair.

Normally his hair and face were off limits to the touch of others, but he couldn't argue that the affectionate attention you were lavishing upon him was truly terrible. 

Quite the opposite. 

"Y'really know how to kick a man when he's down, _cher_." Alastor murmured, his lax state showing in his slightly slurred, accented voice. "Mockin' me for bein' blind..." 

He paused to rub the entirety of his face against your chest; the motion was surprisingly innocent, nothing sexual in terms of intent. It was more like a small child seeking comfort against their mother, simply seeking warmth and connection.

From his place still nestled to your skin, you thought you heard him grump about his style being "impeccable" but when he didn’t lift his face, you just continued on grooming him softly, relishing in the moment of extended comfort.

Your chest reverberated in amusement, a laugh escaping you. Oh yes, he was impeccable indeed. A man birthed upon the style of the century and manners that were no less than the highest standard of propriety; that sarcastic voice in your head was suffocatingly prominent, and you couldn’t help the roll of your eyes if you tried. However, despite it all, you couldn’t help to be reminded of the fact that the two of you were, in fact, topless and rather raunchy in appearance. 

You ran your fingers through his hair a bit more, a soft sigh escaping you as you slowly wrapped your legs around his waist again so that they wouldn’t be crushed beneath him; your ankles atop each other and resting upon the small of his own back. 

“If I knew you liked me rubbing your head,” you whispered, “I would have done it a lot sooner.” You were absolutely whipped for the man, and it surprised even you sometimes by the intensity. “I used to do it for Ruth, but she grew out of it only a few months ago. She used to have nightmares after our mother passed and came into my bed,” you explained gently, finding yourself a bit lost in the explanation of it all. 

At the mention of your mother, Alastor shifted just enough so his face was half visible. Although you were caught up in your thoughts, taking the time to verbalize them aloud, he merely tracked your body language in order to make sure you wouldn't spiral too deeply yourself. 

Your breathing was even under his cheek, however, and your voice steady, so instead Alastor allowed himself to rest against you while you worked out what you needed to. 

“I think that’s one of the reasons why my dad wants to move, other than the job offer. To stay in a place where the love of your life has died… I couldn’t imagine.” It had been a while since you had last thought of your mother; the hustle and bustle of life suppressing the natural grief that you should have had time to experience. 

A breath escaped your nose then. “My mom was older than my dad by a few years, so it made her more susceptible to illnesses. When that pandemic for the flu broke out, she caught it. It was awful to see her so sick, I tried to make it so Ruth didn’t see her like that, but how could I have said no?” It had been a battle on your morals - chance the possibility of Ruth getting sick, or for her to say goodbye one last time.

“I let her spend time with her. We weren’t there when she actually passed, my dad was, and I-” your voice cracked, and you noticed how your eyesight had become blurred and foggy.

Below from his resting place, Alastor stirred enough to bring his face fully to view, although you were so caught up in your emotional response, you didn't seem to notice. A strange feeling (almost akin to _guilt_ ) bloomed in his gut as he felt your muscles stiffen, as though you were subconsciously fighting off the effects of your talk. 

He remained quiet for the time being, as admittedly your cresting and waning emotions made him rather uneasy, hoping that perhaps his presence might be enough. 

You raised the hand that wasn’t connected to his head and rubbed your eyes with your fist. “I miss her. She was kind, warm, safe, loving - she reminds me of Maggie. Everything a mother should be. I think that’s why I latched onto your mom instantly, y’know? Some kinda familiarity that I haven’t seen in more than a year, a comfort that I forgot existed.” You were just babbling now, your thoughts being manifested through your words as you found yourself lost.

You had the tendency to go off on a tangent in moments like these, where your emotions were heightened and you were tapped into feelings that you rarely experienced.

Just like Alastor, you were new to this.

He was your first, and everything you experienced with him was new, frightening, and wonderful all at the same exact time. As if you caught yourself, you closed your mouth. 

They all seemed normal in the moment until you actually looked back at it after it was said and done. With a heavy breath, you stopped running your fingers in his hair, scooted down to the best of your ability, and wrapped your arms around his neck, your head coming to bury into the crook between it and his shoulder. He was so warm.

“‘M sorry… I dunno why I’m so emotional.” Your own accent slipped past your lips then, muffled by the contact.

You didn’t understand these stupid hormones. 

Your breath was soft against his skin as you mumbled; the ember that had been flickering in his gut flared to life, and he was jarringly hit with the overwhelming need to cocoon you in safety. His lean arms shifted just enough to be able to wrap them properly around your frame, and he pulled you as close as possible given the two of you were still wrapped up on his bed. 

"Darling," he crooned softly to you; your face was still pressed tightly to his neck, but his lips were able to just reach the shell of your ear. "I'm not an expert but I do believe this is a prime example of when one should be emotional…" 

The man rolled then, keeping you tucked as closely to him as possible, so that it was your turn to seek comfort from him. You came to rest half atop his chest, the height difference meaning his long legs hung over the bottom of the mattress, while your smaller form curled up in the space between his arm and side, your cheek pressed to his clavicle. 

His fingers danced over your bare shoulders, his blunt nails taking the time to trace a pattern there before they continued on to the nape of your neck. After a moment of him stroking the skin there with the pad of his thumb, he gave into the selfish need he seemed to always carry when it came to you, and took some delight in digging his fingers into your tresses and combing through them. 

He was undeniably rougher with his motions than you had been, but the effort was there. 

You hissed at a sudden sharp tug, a knot catching his fingers and your head automatically navigating towards his hand to ease the sudden pain. You were thoroughly pulled out of your emotional reverie in that moment, and you managed to catch his gaze with your own. With a single hand, you pushed yourself up to push your nose into his own. 

“Be careful _._ ” You whispered before you collapsed right back on him, your head falling to hover over the junction between his neck and shoulder once again. Your lips were soft against his flesh, tracing them in lazy motions before stopping at random points to press into him. You couldn’t deny the own flame in your gut being fed by the affection, especially as his touch grew more gentle (as surprising as that was). There was a hidden roughness in it, but it was a lot better than before. 

Perhaps it was just the emotion in the moment, but your desire to just be one with him was nearly suffocating. Your breath fanned over his clavicle as you pressed your lips here and there in random patterns. 

Your cheeks felt a lot warmer suddenly as thoughts and scenarios began to flood your mind, and, almost hesitantly, you let your hand trail down his body to his own boxers, his pants having been stripped away hours ago. However, your hand returned to its original place before long, ghosting over his opposite shoulder before coming to rest weightlessly upon him. 

Some sort of whine reverberated in your throat as you pushed yourself up to snuggly fit your head beneath his as much as you could, your actions causing his own chin to raise slightly to allow that. But your movements were almost restless in nature, your left leg coming up to rest upon his lower stomach. “Baby…” you murmured, your voice muffled against his warm skin.

The man stilled as you shifted on top of him, more than well aware of where your hand had drifted to before you seemed to catch yourself, and brought it back up to continue your exploration of him. 

In spite of this, he had merely extended his neck slightly so to better rest against your sweet-smelling hair, enjoying the tingle that settled under his skin as your lips brushed against different spots, his eyes closing (unbeknownst to you) as he fell into the sensations. He could get used to this level of adoration...

Your voice was soft when you spoke next, but he still heard the whine that colored it. It made the first stirring of arousal flicker to life in his lower belly, feeling his length twitch in response. Although he doubted he would never cease to be less than fully entertained by the physicality you offered, you had made your intentions clear earlier...

He may have been a cannibalistic serial killer, but his mother had raised him to respect women as best she could. 

That in mind, Alastor couldn’t resist bringing his hands to come stroke over your sides and tummy; he was pleased to see goosebumps form in their wake, your body always so receptive to his touch.

"Sweetheart..." Alastor murmured into your hair, nose pressing in greedily so his words were a bit muffled. There was a teasing note in his tone, and the pause he left hanging in mid-air made it clear this was, once again, to be at your will. 

That title in particular made your belly quiver with the sensation of butterflies, breath quickening subconsciously as your heart skipped a beat. The lighting in the room was dim, a faint yellow that originated from a lamp that was situated off to the side; the overall darkness complimenting the blasphemous actions the two of you were committing, or rather, about to. 

The shadows hugged your bodies, your silhouettes growing upon the wall, morphed in twisted shapes from the lack of illumination. 

You didn’t mind the darkness, though. In fact, it only aided in the safety net you had built for yourself with the idea that these precious moments would always be something to be kept a secret. The fading light of the evening added another element to the darkness; cicadas, crickets, frogs, and even the occasional owl singing their instinctual songs.

No matter how the music industry changed, you would always prefer nature. 

The rumble in his chest did nothing more than agitate your own desires, your thighs instinctively clenching before coming to the realization that they were not together. You were sore, yes, but that didn’t stop your mind from twisting what was once an innocent moment of affection into a more sensual one.

Bringing your hand down to your pants, you unbuttoned them and, briefly untucking your head from beneath his, lifted yourself up, your one forearm resting on his chest as you attempted to rid yourself of the fabric. 

It didn’t take you very long, and once you were clad only in his boxers that, truthfully, were only kept on by your sudden position of laying back down in the exact position you had been in before as if you had never moved to begin with. 

Your pants had fallen off the bed in a heap, and you were uncaring for the most part. You would probably kick yourself in the ass later for not knowing the exact placement, but now, you could only focus on the situation that was starting to play out. 

With your head once again tucked under his chin, your eyes closed momentarily as you felt more of his skin, his warmth, and now that your pants were off, his own boxers on your legs, that heat in your gut had begun to spark to life. As his hand ran across your belly, you moved your own to navigate to his and lead it towards the waistband of the underwear. 

“Show me what your love feels like,” you said in a hushed tone, nuzzling into him. “But… be gentle, please.” Your words held an uncertainty to them, as if you were unsure whether or not he even _could_ be gentle. Even if the true extent of your feelings weren’t reciprocated (he was an enigma, you didn’t really understand him even when you thought you did), it didn’t make _your_ emotions any less real. 

And my _god,_ did this boy put you through a loop. 

Your hand still rested on his, both as encouragement and on some level, offering him a bit of comfort. That despite your earlier words and the ache at the crux of your core, the thought of feeling him inside of you, the delicious stretch of him, was all that was needed to flush your body with arousal.

Alastor’s hand twitched under yours, the action so minute that you almost missed it. He hummed low in his chest and the hand that wasn’t placed under yours moved to tap a pattern up the path of your spine until he reached the nape of your neck. 

With a smooth twist, his palm came to gently run up the long column of your throat, until he was able to cup just below your jaw; the slightest bit of pressure had your head tilted up just so, your mouths finally brushing, achingly slow, together. 

He cooed your name yet again, the sound tumbling from his lips as he exhaled; across the room, the lamp light seemed to flutter (although no strong breeze moved his curtains), darkening the room even more, the shadows lengthening on the walls. You were much too wrapped up in him to notice; the hand that rested on your belly beginning to trace the hem of the boxers you still wore. 

The muscles in your lower belly quivered as his fingers came to sweep under the waistband. He seemed content for a while to stroke and rub circles into the soft, delicate skin that laid just below your belly button. A nail caught briefly, and the small sting of the scratch made you noticeably shiver; in the next instant, Alastor slotted his lips to yours, his urgency becoming visible in the slight force behind his kiss. 

He was irresistibly _hungry_ for more of you, his tongue sweeping out to encourage you to part your lips for him. He hummed encouragingly when you complied, mouth accepting his affections readily with a small, breathy moan of your own in response. 

Below, his large, warm hand came to cup you intimately, his middle finger moving to rub tantalizing slowly along your slit. What little arousal formed there helped to ease his motion, and while his kiss was searing, his stroking against your core was tender.

Your eyebrows furrowed softly, a light noise escaping your throat as you let the world go dark; your eyes closing to focus on his kisses and the feeling of his finger tracing the labia and flesh there with a slowness that had you relieved. You pushed closer to him then, a sigh leaving through your nose as you found yourself falling into the ministrations, unsure of what to focus on - his lips? They were infinitely more distracting, but it was also difficult to fully grasp the intimacy. 

Your lips closed before you pulled away just enough to catch your breath.

“ _Gentle.”_ You insisted, before lowering your lips back onto his own, and, as if to _show_ him how, you simply applied enough pressure to slot your lips against the dip of his own. You really didn’t want to have bruised lips each time you kissed him, and if this was going to be a common occurrence between the two of you, then he would need to learn how to be less… urgent. 

Taking his hand in your own, you hooked your fingers through the spaces of his own and gave him a reassuring squeeze. _Like that,_ it seemed to say. Breaking away for a second time, you rubbed your nose against his, before peppering kisses up the bridge to his forehead, then down his nose again, and not exactly _kissing_ him more so than lying your lips on his, you gave him the control back; a silent and understood trade. 

Or at least, you hoped. 

Alastor hummed again, this time deep enough that his chest rumbled under you. His forehead was slightly creased and you thought you briefly felt his fingers hesitate between your thighs. He tilted his head again slightly, better to trace the tip of his nose against yours before pressing slightly awkward, slightly open mouthed kisses to the same path on your face. 

He gave an extra kiss to the very tip of your nose once he had returned to the start, before pulling back just enough to be able to make proper eye contact. He simply quirked an eyebrow down at you, his fingers slowly picking up their pace again. 

This time, he took care to lightly brush over your clit, the pad of his thumb giving just enough pressure that the first lick of pleasure started at the base of your spine. You arched into him, a subconscious response to his touches as your lips parted to release a soft ‘yes’ before you could stop yourself. Your eyes fluttered closed for a moment, your breath gentle but slightly audible when you exhaled. When you reopened them, you leaned in to press your lips to his jaw, trailing up to his cheek and then falling back down to his lips. 

However, you were the one to break the uncertain boundaries, because the next moment, you had wrenched your hand out of his and came to wrap them around his neck, pressing him (to the best of your ability) down to you. “Don’t be afraid to kiss me, you fool.” You laughed lightly. “I said gentle, Al.” You shook your head slightly, your nose once again rubbing against his. “... Not that you weren’t allowed to.” 

His eyes had widened when your hand first met his neck - yet again proving yourself, whether you knew it or not, to be worthy enough to stay by his side. 

They softened, crinkles forming at the edges when your nose touched his, and suddenly overtaken with the need to prove himself just as equally worthy of _you_ , his mouth fit to yours. His lips were firm but rather than holding their usual hint of force, he teased your own, pulling away slightly at times before surging forward with a little more pressure. The dynamic meant you never quite caught your breath, your head hazy under his attention, but without the bruises. 

Sensing you were beginning to fall into the pattern he was mapping out, Alastor ever so gently dipped a finger into your slick opening, making sure not to force himself when he met slight resistance, your sore inner muscles working instinctively to try to protect you. 

He took your hand still at his neck in his own that wasn't currently occupied between your thighs, and moved it down to land at his pectoral muscle. There, he manipulated your fingers until you felt them brush against something that stood out slightly from the rest of the feeling of his skin. The skin felt slightly jagged and rounded, and with a small jolt you realized you were tracing the largest of the scars that littered his chest. 

Furrowing your brows again, you let your fingertips explore the feeling; your kisses faltered in their rhythm as you tried to focus on _three_ things at one. It was a long, jagged thing, cutting off in some places to show long-healed flesh, before continuing its path. You barely realized amidst the hazy state he put you in so unfairly easily where it was close to; his heart. 

As your brows relaxed and your original confusion and curiosity faded away, you pressed your hand flat to the scar, returning your attention to his lips and, in doing so, gently raced your tongue across the slightly chapped softness of his own lips. But just as quickly, you were reminded of his finger that was achingly slowly entering you, and after a moment, you raised your leg to rest atop his hip, dangerously close to his own growing erection that you hadn’t taken time to notice. You were way too occupied to even try to.

The slight change in position made it easier for him to access you, and when you attempted to relax your muscles that had stiffened subconsciously, it only made the intrusion that much easier. Albeit, it was only his finger, but you weren’t kidding about being sore. Your attention soon returned to his mouth, in which you parted from softly. “... Do you want to take them off?” Your voice was softer than usual, lilted in a way of curiosity and emotion. You would do anything he wanted. 

Just as quickly though, you sealed the distance once more; your kisses were gentle against his firm ones, but you supposed they always would be. The fact that he was even trying at all made your heart go batshit crazy - as if it hadn’t already been, for him. 

He murmured something against your lips, as though the thought of parting from you long enough to articulate was too much; he withdrew his finger from your core with as much tenderness as he could muster (given the steady throb that had settled at the base of his twitching length, it was a feat), and used his now free hand to ease the waistband down. 

When he reached the swell of your bum, his palm shifted your hips enough that he was able to then tug them down to your knees in one smooth, surprisingly charismatic movement. With little hesitation, he trailed his finger tips back up your inner thigh, making sure in particular to catch the ticklish spot hidden just behind your knee. 

"Still with me, darling?" Alastor murmured then, mouth parting from yours finally. 

“Always.” You whispered.

"Good-" He bent his head in a way that allowed him to latch his lips to the pulse point on your neck, his height aiding him as he continued to give attention to your slick heat. "-girl…" He broke away from your throat just as his finger breached your inner muscles. 

This time he added a slight twist of his wrist as he pushed deeper, catching the small spongy spot tucked just inside. His thumb swirled over your sensitive nub and your core fluttered deliciously around his digit. A small whine escaped your throat as you leaned into him then, your head falling to the space between his shoulder and his neck as you opened your (unintentionally) closed eyes that you hadn’t realized had even been shut. 

“Can I…” You took in a sharp breath, a moan escaping your parted lips at his movements, and for a second you thought you may lose yourself in the growing sensations, before you swallowed thickly. “Can I watch?” You weren’t entirely sure how you would be able to, though, and your voice portrayed that in the confused note that transitioned. 

Alastor's eyes flew to meet yours, searching for your sincerity even though the low light of the room meant you were cast half in shadow. Some voice in the back of his head crooned that you had never looked more beautiful…

His hand once again left the warmth between your thighs, and he pushed himself so that he could roll you on your back. With a customary wink, he kissed your nose and then moved off (surprisingly silently) to the darkened half of the room. 

You instinctively squinted, even going so far as to sit up slightly on your elbows so you could try to spot where the man had disappeared to. The lamp light fluttered again, and from somewhere close by, a small thump made you jump despite the fact that you were still flushed with excitement from your earlier actions. 

So you did the only normal thing you could think of and launched yourself right off of that bed and navigated straight towards his form, only to wrap your arms behind him tightly. “Um,” you paused, your gaze flickering over to the lamp with a suspicious stare. You didn’t trust the lamp. 

Another flicker from the lamp made your arms tighten even more (if that was possible), although the deep chuckle that came from Alastor helped soothe your nerves slightly. He twisted in such a way that it allowed him to turn and pull you back into his arms, your eyes wide and looking, funnily enough, like a deer in headlights. 

"Mice." He said, as if it were perfectly logical that small rodents would run amuk. And while he had a point - 

A second, louder thump sounded from somewhere in the depths of the house, this time sending you straight _up_ so that Alastor was forced to catch you. 

“‘S not a mouse!” You whisper-yelled. Slowly, you buried your head under his chin in a way to comfort yourself - it appeared a humorous pose, as if you were some child scared of a haunted house. Which, honestly, other than the child part, your mind was already spiraling to. “Shouldn’t have done the cards.” You mumbled. “Prob’ly angry.”

Alastor couldn’t stop himself from rolling his eyes at you slightly, "Dearest," he sounded as though he was speaking to a child, and a small part of you felt vindicated. "The house is old. Wood creaks and shifts as it settles. Besides which, if it's not too much trouble to beg for your attention…" 

His long legs carried him and you still perched in his arms, back to his bed. He deposited you on top gently this time, and stood back just enough to boop your nose. 

"I have a solution to your query," His smile was reaching the level of shit-eating only Alastor seemed capable of. 

He had the ability to wash away your worries in a blink of an eye, somehow. It was a feat that you hadn’t experienced before with anyone else but, like many things, you were experiencing it all for the first time with him. After quieting your breath and your nerves, you leaned on your elbows to peer up at him curiously. “... Should I trust that smile?” Your eyes flickered down to his lips in suspicion, your eyebrows raised. 

He pulled back sharply from you, one hand pressed to his chest as though you had wounded him, "Dearest, darling doll of mine!" He stage-whispered, "Your lack of trust is bitterly devastating!" 

You found yourself shaking your head, before leaned up after him and reached towards him and to grab his hands again. “I think,” you pulled him back down, ”I trust you a bit too much,” you whispered against his lips. “I was just asking if it was a good idea.” You winked, a grin forming on your own lips. 

His eyes nearly slits from the size of his responding grin, Alastor leaned in enough to rest his forehead against yours, "I'm full of nothing but good ideas, silly girl." 

And with no more prompting, he gathered you in his arms enough that he was then able to shift you further up on the bed. With another kiss - this time he took the time to give in just a bit and nibble on your bottom lip - he once again slinked off into the semi darkness. 

“Wha- hey!” You watched helplessly as he continued doing… whatever he was doing (you had completely forgotten your request) and shifted to follow him off the bed again. 

But before you could, a flash of the light momentarily caught you off guard; eyes squeezed shut to block out the sudden bit of pain, you missed Alastor hefting the small, rounded mirror he kept hung over his wardrobe to be propped just at the end of the bed. 

You heard him click his tongue, your hand coming up to rub some of the lingering flare from your sight. When you finally regained use of your eyes without them watering, you saw he had propped the mirror up on a small, worn looking chair. 

He waved his hands in the air with his usual flourish, and gave you a pointed look. 

You stared at your reflection for a long moment, your appearance just as raunchy as you thought it would be given your brief but very heated actions. The blush that betrayed your emotions rose to your cheeks then, your neck and the tips of your ears warming a bit as you turned to look up at him slowly. 

“S’nice.” You said, a bit dumbfounded.

"For your show, sweetheart." He answered with a wink. 

He moved then to join you back on the bed, arms open as though to invite you to come sit in his lap. When you hesitated, still slightly unsure of exactly what he meant to do, he reached out to grab your wrist and instead tugged you to him, his impatience beginning to show despite his continued efforts. 

As you settled in his lap, you leaned back into the warmth of his body and let the back of your head rest on his chest, otherwise going completely limp in an effort to do whatever he wanted - you were clueless. Looking straight ahead, you met his gaze through the reflection and suddenly, you felt very much exposed. 

… But it wasn’t as uncomfortable as it should have been.

Holding your gaze as though to check for your consent one last time, Alastor ran his hands down your sides, over the curve of your hips until he brushed your inner thighs. Rather than return immediately back to his previous plan, he used open palms to guide your legs to part. He stopped briefly to adjust your stance - your cheeks flushing but otherwise you made no move to stop him - his hands moving then to grasp the back of your knees so he could angle your legs up and over the tops of his leanly muscled thighs. 

"Do you know how beautiful you are?" Alastor cooed, mimicking the words you had told him so much earlier. Your only response was a small, almost insignificant whine. 

As much as you tried, you couldn’t tear your eyes off of yourself and his hands through the reflection. His lips came to trace the shell of your ear and he angled his head so he could press it to yours, cheek to cheek. 

One hand moved from a knee to seek out the heat that he knew rested just at the crux of your legs. The other was placed on your side, to hold you to him as he shifted himself slightly behind you. He traced those odd patterns into your skin again, the motion soothing and almost mesmerizing as his fingertips danced over your ribs. 

They came to rest just at the soft undercurve of your breast, and with a small, soft sigh of his own, his hand ghosted over your chest until he pressed it flat to your sternum. 

“Al…” you whispered, still amidst your trance-like state, so much so that you didn’t turn to look up at him, instead further leaning into him so your head rested just under his chin. 

The man crooned your name back in response, a finger at your core pressing ever so lightly against your bud before he took it away again. 

“I love you.” 

Alastor paused - froze, more like - your words coming clearly to him in spite of you whispering them. The hand on your chest clenched slightly, fingers making small indents on your skin as he pressed you tightly to his form. 

You felt the stiffness in his muscles, but instead of being disappointed or even angry, you had already come to the understanding that it was just something that would take time. Leaning your head back against his shoulder, you took your eyes off of the reflection and instead tilted your head to peer up at him. Your left hand raised in that moment to come to his jaw, in which you attempted to lead his face to look down at you. 

“It’s okay,” you whispered, pressing your lips to his jaw. Your other hand rose in that moment to lay on his arm that led to your heat, and you trailed your palm down to meet his own hand there. “I don’t want you to say it unless you mean it. I…” you let out a small sound as you pressed his hand into your slick just enough to apply pressure to your precious pearl of nerves, even if his movements were still. 

“Jus’ want you to know.” 

Your eyes fluttered closed as you rolled your hips into his hand slowly, a gentle sigh of pleasure escaping you. The position alone was enough to add to your arousal, and soon enough, you let your hand slide back up his and rest on his forearm so you could feel his movements.

“Sweetheart,” Alastor breathed in your ear, his breath tickling some of the baby hairs that were starting to stick to your flushed skin. Below, his palm cupped you intimately, possessively, before his fingers took up their stroking again, the muscles in his lean forearms shifting under your fingertips. 

In a moment of rare, true honesty, Alastor knew he wasn't able to return your sentiments (yet); you offered him a steady rush of heady emotions, still new and overwhelming to him, that thrilled him endlessly. He was steadily finding himself rather taken by your charms, and had long since decided that he was going to keep you for himself – it was much too confusing and new for him to properly articulate, and so instead he did what he did best: sweet-talk.

“Sweet, darling girl,” He crooned to you, catching your eye in the mirror as he eased one deliciously long finger into your slick heat. 

You sighed softly and rolled your hips, your body readily accepting him. He crooked his fingers to brush the sweet, spongy spot inside before pulling back and circling your swollen pearl of nerves. 

“Look how well you do for me, such a pretty little thing. Do you see how pretty you look on my fingers? Just think how you must look when I'm _truly_ inside you-” He paused to nip your earlobe, gently as he could given he was slowly getting caught up in the moment. 

Between your thighs, he shifted his hand so he could plunge his middle finger back into your welcoming heat, his thumb brushing achingly light against your clit. “How does it feel to know you're mine, that _this_ -" he pressed a kiss to the juncture of your neck, his finger setting a leisurely but steady pace in your slick heat. “-is all that you will know, all you will ever need...” 

Alastor trailed off, much too caught up in drawing those sweet, breathy moans from you, his hot mouth pressing kisses along the column of your neck and shoulder. 

Some sound not at all unlike a whimper arose from the depths of your throat, only to be cut off from your closed lips as you pressed yourself tighter to his chest as if you desperately wanted to feel every single detail of every little scar, the way his chest rose and fell in ragged movements. The way his lips pressed against your neck only lit each spot he touched with heat, and you battled with yourself to lean your head away so that he could access more of you, or to lean _closer_ to him. Your affections in these moments were substantial.

And you wanted nothing more than to extend the vulnerabilities that the two of you experience with each other.

Your toes twitched beneath his legs absentmindedly, a subconscious movement when you were at your most relaxed or comfortable state; some that had driven your father mad when you rested your feet on him as a little girl upon the couch, but now only offered a familiar movement that you didn’t even realize you were making until someone pointed it out or you actually caught yourself. You didn’t.

Your attention, in fact, was too focused on the reflection and the growing lewd sounds that accompanied his movements. You found that you easily fell into that trance once again as you watched his middle finger disappear into your body, only to feel him brush against that delicious spot that made tingles of pleasure originate in your core. “Alastor…” you moaned lightly, chills running up your arms and legs as you honed in on the sight that the mirror was offering you. 

You could see how your slick made his fingers shine, how his wrist crooked at an angle to plunge deeper into you. It was wholly unfair how he had such an effect on you, to have you abandon every single anxiety or thought and cause you to return to a needy state that you _never_ thought you would find yourself in. “Feels so good,” you whispered shakily, your voice seeming far off as you focused entirely on the sensations and the sight.

“Feels so good to be yours,” you murmured drunkenly, and despite his finger not being incredibly deep inside you, you gave an experimental flutter of your walls.

You breathed his name again, this time barely audible as you rolled your hips into his hand again, longing to hear those obscene sounds even louder. However, when you did, you brushed the small of your back accidentally against his length. To say the least, it surprised you enough for you to break contact with the mirror and tilt your head back and up enough in hopes to catch his eye. “So hard for me already...” 

Alastor’s length twitched from within the confines of the boxers he still wore. 

Your words floated to him on the night air, the obscene squelch of his fingers between your legs colouring the atmosphere. The hand that had been resting on yours moved then to tilt your chin up, so he could better brush his mouth against yours. He made some strange sound then, half hum and half whine, “Because of you, sweet girl.” He focused on crooking his finger just right, so he could better press against the soft, spongy spot nestled just inside your fluttering walls. 

“You make it easy for a man to make a fool of himself.”

He traced his nose along the length of yours, his head angled at a rather odd tilt so he was able to make eye contact with you; his face was half covered in the shadows that still filled the room, but he was just as devastatingly handsome as always. Your inner muscles gave a particularly strong quiver when you felt him press a second finger to your opening, hesitation in his movements as though he was not quite sure your body could handle more. 

He cooed your name, a slight questioning lilt to it, as he tenderly slipped his second finger in to join the first. He would stop if you told him to, everything in his body urging him on to continue to manipulate those tantalizing sounds from you, but until you did so, Alastor plunged in and out of your pilant body.

“Good.” You couldn’t help the knee-jerk sassy response if you tried, but you were soon cut off by the licks of pleasure dancing up your spine at the intrusion of two fingers now, and your bravado was soon skipping town completely. 

Fluttering your eyes closed, albeit a bit subconsciously, you pressed your lips to his in an open mouthed kiss that wasn’t so much a _kiss_ as it was sharing breath. His fingers moved with an experience that didn’t match his own, and it was quickly becoming apparent that, the more you focused on what he was doing with you, that there was something _strange_ amongst the usual experience you had with approaching orgasms. 

There was a growing pressure where there hadn’t been before, and your furrowed brows were enough for you to tell him that _something_ was weird - but you couldn’t appropriately voice it. “Can I-“ you didn’t get to say the words. That sweet, ambrosia of a sensation had you arching your back against him, and while you felt an added warmth from between your thighs, your tightly closed eyes missed the entirety of the show, a particularly loud and embarrassing moan escaping you.

With your back arched and the muscles in your lower belly shaking visibly, Alastor knew you were quickly approaching your completion, and doubled down on his focus on stroking and kneading his fingertips within your slick warmth. Your neck corded from your efforts as your hips lifted on their own, chasing the steadily building pressure that was growing in your core. The first wave of your orgasm crested sharply, and while you had become somewhat familiar with the carnal feeling of being tipped over the edge, there was some hidden pressure welling up. 

One last sharp twist of his wrist coupled with the sweeping circle of his thumb sent you crashing over that sweet edge; his fingers pressed once more to the soft spot at the front of your inner walls, and you simply, instinctively bared down on the pressure that crested with it. 

Amidst the pleasure, your lips parted but no sound escaped the expanse of your throat, and the moment you opened your eyes, you were instead met with the darkness of his neck practically blocking your view from your position. 

There was something in the back of your mind that said something felt strange, but when you were amongst the throes of passion and one of the most intense orgasmic experiences you had ever had the encountered, you barely noticed the pressure being released, or the sudden, added wetness that streamed from you. 

All you could do when all was said and done was continue to roll your hips and pant into his heated flesh.

A chuckle rumbled up from deep within Alastor’s chest; he had, naturally, had his eyes on you the entire time and had watched in naive fascination as your body responded to him in such a manner. His eyes were crinkled with his mirth, “Well done, sweetheart.” He cooed to you from where you were still pressed to his form. “That’s quite the finishing act.” 

Your body was still quivering and trembling in his hold, your face still hidden, and knowing you were likely going to be boneless for quite some time, the man took it upon himself to be as selfish as he could be, and so Alastor simply gathered you closer in his arms and relished in the feeling of your skin on his. He continued to murmur soft words of praise to you, one hand moving to trail some of the slick and added wetness that coated your thighs up so he could rub lazy designs into the skin of your lower belly. 

Your form still limp and pliable in his arms, Alastor’s eyes moved back to the mirror, where he noted some of the extra fluid had landed. Some deep, masculine pride roared to life in his chest at the sight. Coupled with your continued panting, his own need began to make itself more known, his length pressing harshly to the inside of his clothing.

His fingers still drew shapes and odd patterns into the flesh just below your belly button (subconsciously, just above where you womb would lie) as he traced the shell of your ear with his lips, “Look at yourself, darling.” He gently urged you to shift slightly, so you could turn your head and face the reflection in the mirror once more. There in the depths of the mirror, you were able to spot the extra shine on the inside of your thighs and the dark spot a little further down the bed where your release had flooded. 

“What-“ Your eyebrows furrowed for a moment before relaxing again, too winded to do anything other than stare at it in curiosity and confusion. “What did I do?” 

Alastor ceased his drawing on your skin, instead laying his hand openly on your stomach. His other hand shifted to move to your hair, where he dug his fingers into your tresses and rubbed what he hoped were soothing circles into your scalp. “I’m not sure myself,” He murmured to you then. “But it was certainly quite the sight.” 

You made a small, soft sound of pleasure as he ran his fingers through your hair, your eyes fluttering closed as you leaned into him. His blunt nails and the pressure he was applying to your blissed-out state caused you to fall deeper into that safety net he provided. It only further caused you to feel that pull of affection for him, to where your heart welled up with emotion and flushed your already heated skin with added warmth. 

As your wits slowly began to return to you, you noticed his hand on your belly and how it was almost _protectively_ holding it; but perhaps that was your own naive hope. You didn’t believe in coincidences, at least, not ones that were dramatic as this. You weren’t sure about fate, either, but the way everything you had done in your life, every single choice you made had led you to this moment, laying upon a man who no doubt was infuriating at times but otherwise too addicting to get enough of, a man who brought so much joy and excitement into your life just as much as he did with frustration.

You weren’t sure _what_ to call that.

“‘S your show now.” You breathed against his flesh as you took your legs off of him and moved to peel your body away, only to put your knees underneath you so you could turn around to face him completely. Leaning up, you brushed your nose against his jaw, your hands running up his chest as your lips pressed softly into his skin. 

“You always make me feel so good,” you praised. 

Your lips trailed further down, your eyes closed as your fingertips danced across his abdominal muscles before hooking beneath his boxers waistband that were, albeit, straining to be off of him. “Lift your hips for me,” you murmured just loud enough for him to hear, before you moved your fingers to begin to pull them down. 

When you were greeted with his cock, you pressed your lips to the tip before kissing down the length of it, letting your tongue come out and trace along the grooves of the veins, and then back up as if you were _praising_ it. Once at the tip, you pressed the pad of your tongue upon the slit to gather his own arousal.

He always tasted so good.

When you pulled away, you met his gaze with a curious, questioning expression as if to ask him if he wanted you just as much as you wanted him. 

Alastor’s hands had fisted in his bedding at the touch of your tongue to his weeping tip. His hips stuttered, lifting upwards as you pulled away, instinctively trying to chase after the warmth of your mouth. He managed to stammer your name, as though his sustained arousal throughout your shared experience suddenly washed over him in a way that was unbearable. 

The head of his length was flushed darker than the rest of him, weeping consistently and bouncing as it throbbed; he lifted one hand and managed to wrap a few of your loose strands of hair around it, giving you a playful tug when his words properly failed him. 

You simply sat there, quite comfy from your position, and smirked at him. With his mussed hair and slightly lopsided glasses, he was surprisingly _adorable_ and you felt a sudden need to pleasure him in the way he had pleasured you. However, seeing him in such a way only added to your desire to see _more_ of this rather submissive side of him. Your eyes fell to his throbbing length, a coy smile dancing upon your lips.

Sitting up, you pressed close to him so your belly brushed against the spot between his ribs, your hands coming up to gently remove his glasses from his face and throw them somewhere onto the floor uncaringly. If they broke, he would get another pair out of his drawer probably. If you had learned anything from the man, it was that he had a backup plan for his backup plan. Rubbing your nose against his, you gave a shuddering breath against his lips, but leaned just far enough away so you didn’t kiss him. Your smile was softer.

His eyes were so easy to get lost in. 

“Yeeesss?” You replied to his previous stammering with an elongated whisper.

“D-Darling,” He murmured, completely ignoring the fact you had tossed his spectacles. His only thought was seeking more of your mouth, whether it be from a kiss or your lips wrapping sinfully around his twitching muscle. 

“Gotta tell me what you want, baby.” You murmured back. “Else I can’t help you.” Oh, that grin that mirrored his own shit-eating one had been adopted upon your own lips. There was _something about him_ acting like this that made you crave more. 

The muscles in Alastor’s temple started their familiar tick in time to his pulse and you watched as the sharp line of his jaw clenched as he ground his back teeth. This feeling of being almost too overstimulated, of having such a desperate need go ignored for so long, had set his nerve endings on fire and as you brushed against him, he couldn’t hide the shiver that coursed over his frame. Your touch was electrifying, that much was undeniable, and it seemed to lock his tongue in place. 

When no smart quip fell from his lips, Alastor did something you had never quite expected him to do. He whined. His tone was abruptly breathy and soft, the syllables of your name tumbling from his lips in a slur that sounded half unintelligible. The hand that had fallen from your hair when you shifted reached out blindly for you, grabbing for you as though he was some small child. 

It made a wicked sense of ego bloom in your chest, but still you shifted away so his hand fell short of reaching its goal. 

Another whine bubbled up from his throat, this time simply a sound instead of any attempt at words. Your pupils were dilated, your fingers twitching against his face, your touch once so gentle now coming to rest at the base of his head, just upon his throat. It was almost a funny sight, considering the size difference, and you being unable to do jack shit to him, but you hoped the meaning behind it was loud and clear.

“You want me to hold you?” Your eyes lowered as you fluttered them closed, your lips brushing against his. “Kiss you?” You leaned away again, your one hand tightening against the side of his throat (inexperienced as it was, understandably), your other hovering over his knee as you slowly brought it to his inner thigh. “Touch you?” 

You pressed as close as you could to him then, your legs coming on their own to be on either side of his thighs so that you were spread just above him. “Pretty boy, do you want me to fuck you?” Your lips found their way to his jaw then, your fingers of your left hand flexing on his throat. 

“Use your _words.”_ You growled. 

As the last syllable of your growl left the air, the lamp light behind you dampened significantly, regardless of the fact that no wind blew. 

Neither of you noticed, however, too wrapped up on what was occurring on Alastor’s bed top; had you, you might have noticed the shadows that had once been stationary on the wall behind the headboard of his bed now seemed to elongate, their jagged edges warping in the new level of darkness, edging closer to the frame… 

Alastor’s pupils had blown out at the first touch of your hand against his throat. Although your palm was nearly twice as small as his own, you were still able to put just the faintest amount of pressure behind your action, your dainty fingers coming to press into the soft side of his neck. 

In his ear, he could clearly hear the rising _thump_ of his own heartbeat. His sudden reaction to your small show of dominance ( _violence_ ) only stroked the growing feelings of passion and desire that were coiling in his gut.

He cooed your name again (you could feel his Adam’s apple bounce under your touch) and shifted his hips so that his long legs splayed out to the sides a bit more. This immediately dropped you flush to his lower half, and the small change in position finally allowed his hands to properly reach your body. 

You smacked them away. “I said use your words.” You leaned up against him, the gravity and the position making it a bit more difficult. You pressed a bit tighter into his throat then, your other hand coming to move your index finger and thumb to his chin to tilt it down to you. “What? You can’t speak? Too scared? Cat got your tongue?” You were absolutely on a power high, and you were going to milk it for as long as you possibly could. You were having way too much fun.

“Look at you, so flushed and ready for me.” You didn’t even have to look down to know. “I bet you want to bury yourself inside me, don’t you? It’ll be so easy, too, I’m already so wet for you.” Your smile was hurting your cheeks. “ _Say it.”_ You hissed.

Alastor bared his teeth at you slightly then, although he wasn’t sure himself it was a sign of actual warning or if it was simply his body’s fight-or-flight response kicking in in light of your teasing. 

While he normally prided himself on being the skilled orator he was, the words for this particular instance seemed to be failing him. With a huff that was more childlike than anything else, his tongue darted to wet his bottom lip before he finally managed a stifled, stamming, “P-Please, sweetheart…” 

“Please what?” Your eyes were crinkled, your smile becoming more genuine.

Another beat of silence greeted you, although you were sure you could see the cogs in his brilliant mind struggling to come up with the proper phrasing. It was deliciously ironic, and the power trip in and of itself was addicting. 

Alastor opened his mouth, paused, and then closed it again. Some shadow filtered over his face, but your gaze was locked on the muscles working in his jaw again. It made the vein running down the column of his neck stand to attention, his lean body mass meaning the hard planes of his form were noticeable as his cortisol levels spiked in response to his body’s perceived stress. 

“Hm.” You hummed, a teasing note on your throat before you let your hand fall from his throat. “Guess that must mean you don’t want anything at all,” you knew exactly what you were doing. “Oh well.” Shrugging, you attempted to clamber off of him. 

His large hands moved startlingly fast and gripped your hips almost painfully as he tried to clutch you to him, “No!” He blurted, your eyebrows raising in surprise. 

He shifted again under you, this time allowing his length to brush you, his hands managing to keep you in place, “Stay, please.” He murmured then, and you watched as he seemed to cave in on himself (he couldn’t quite reach you properly to hide his face). 

“Let me feel you.” Alastor’s voice was so quiet you weren’t sure you heard him properly, but the tone of his words was tantalizing. Your name fell from his mouth, “Don’t tease me, doll…” a hand began rubbing the sensitive spot just above the jutting curve of your hip bone. “Please… f-fuck me…” 

You heard him loud and clear, but you couldn’t help but press him a bit more. The words made that flame in your gut burst to life again, and you couldn’t help but lower yourself just enough to let him slip through your folds, not quite allowing him to enter you yet. “Such a good boy for me,” you breathed, letting your movements return to a gentle motion. “But I think you can do a little better than that.” 

Your lips fit securely between his own then, finally allowing him to kiss you properly. “Say it again,” you whispered in a soft coo, “-just one more time. I love hearing you say it.” With your dominating persona drifting away, you pressed your lips to him again. 

“And I’ll let you make love to me all night. I’ll let you stuff yourself so deep inside of me, I’ll let you cum over and over inside of me,” your lips connected with his for a moment, offering him a subtle roll of your hips so that his length would get some sort of friction. 

“Would you,” you gave him an open mouthed kiss, “-would you like that…?”

Alastor had grunted, his hips jerking forward subconsciously at your praise of him - _good boy_ \- and had momentarily closed his eyes when you finally graced him with a roll of your hips and a teasing taste of your slick heat against his pulsating length. He panted harshly, his nostrils flaring and the tick in his jaw back, all signs he was thoroughly overstimulated. 

“Yessss…” He hissed hotly against your mouth, warm puffs of air hitting your face as he struggled to control his breathing. His eyes opened, pupils still dilated, and tried his best to meet your gaze. “Please, darling…”

He moved then so he could wrap his arms fully around your frame and then rubbed his face against your bare chest; despite the intimate nature of your position and what you had just asked of him, the action itself was innocent, a sign of him reacting to some unknown emotion and seeking your comfort. 

“Fuck me…” His words were muffled by the swell of your breast and you instinctively arched into the feeling of his mouth there. To his credit, Alastor took the hint and brushed his lips over your nipple, “Please, let me have you again…” he murmured lowly, alternating between nuzzling your skin and speaking. 

“Sweetheart, you’ll drive a man insane… _please_ …” His tone was slowly slipping into a bit of a whimper; the feeling of you rocking against him but not allowing him to move fully inside you was frying his already sensitive nerves. 

As he began to plead, you were left feeling a bit _guilty_ almost for making him do such a thing; in all, you found yourself forgetting his rougher nature and infuriating tendencies in moments like these, and as he swept his tongue over your nipple, you let out a soft sound of approval. As he held you to him, your right hand rose to bring your pointer finger under his chin. When you met his gaze, you squashed your nose against his and offered him a very gentle, soft smile. 

There, you let your nose find the space of his own as you tilted your head slightly in order to capture his lips in a brief kiss, only to trail your lips down his jaw, his neck, before parting your lips from his skin completely, only to gently rest your chin on his shoulder. Your arms came to hover slightly, before you rested them atop his shoulders as well. 

“‘M sore, love.” You breathed; the nickname falling from you before you had a chance to stop it. “Gentle, please.”

His warm hands came to rest at the base of your bum, although he took the time to rub soothing circles into the soft, plump skin there, “I doubt I’ll last long, doll…” He admitted, lips brushing against the ear he could reach. “I’ll go slow…” 

Alastor’s voice trailed off as he gently urged your hips to shift upwards, fingers spanning outwards over your hips to help guide you so he could finally sink achingly slow into your warm, tight heat. 

You weren’t sure why, but he felt a fuck ton larger than before, but you soon came to the conclusion that it was in fact because you were so sore from his rougher ministrations upon your poor body. You winced, albeit it was hidden from his view, but what _wasn’t_ was when your hands fingertips threatened to dig into his skin. Your bottom lip found its way between your teeth, and you moved to nuzzle your head just under his chin again. 

His arms helped guide you into rolling your hips, setting you into an easy, slow pace. He managed to keep his hips from surging upwards and thrusting into you, knowing that it would be too much given the signs of stress on your body. 

Your body had gone lax against him so he carried most of your weight across his chest and forearms. Your head was still tucked closely to him and at one particularly deep sweep of your hips, you turned your face to his skin and tried to hide the hiss of pain that escaped you. 

Alastor stilled, one hand moving to the small of your back and kneading against you with almost perfect pressure, cooing your name. He made no further signs of moving, although he remained buried inside of you. “Are you alright?” He nuzzled against you as best as he could given how closely you were pressed to him, but he did manage to reach the top of one of your shoulders and took to placing soft, open mouthed kisses and tracing his nose over the delicate skin there. 

You barely noticed how deeply your nails were embedding into his skin until you, in a daze, were brought back to reality by his voice alone. Almost drunkenly (and subconsciously), you copied his movements and pressed your own open-mouthed kissed to the junction between his shoulder and neck, before nuzzling into him as well. “S’okay.” You mumbled, your words a mere breath of heated words. 

“You’re just…” Almost embarrassed, you adopted his own action of hiding in him as you breathed the next words as quickly as you could, “so big.” 

Alastor hummed, hand at your back moving to run up the length of your spine until his hand came to rest at the nape of your neck. 

His hand was large enough that he could easily press it open palm-style and reach from side to side, so he gently began to compress the tense muscles that corded under your skin. His other hand left your hip and drifted over you lower belly, his fingers brushing over the delicate skin (in his mind’s eye he could see himself buried within you, just on the other side of his hand) before bringing them down and finding the little bundle of nerves nestled at the top of your folds. 

“And you, pretty girl,” He crooned to you, slowly beginning to rock his hips into you once again as his fingers continued their attention on your clit. He felt your inner muscles clench slightly, fluttering lightly against him. “You're so good to me, so _tight_ for me…” He dragged his mouth over the curve of your shoulder. “You do so well, taking all of me, darling.” 

The hand at your neck gave you one last comforting squeeze before it moved back along your spine to meet the side of your hips. With a small nudge from him then, your hips began to meet his in earnest and although you still felt almost too full, the sting from before was lessening with each tender thrust. 

An elongated, needy whine escaped the expanse of your throat as you tried your damndest to pleasure him and forget your own pain. Now, you were particularly always a selfless person, you had your own flaws and darker desires as everyone did, and you were in no way perfect, but you did pride yourself in being someone who could _give_ more than she took. 

With a heavy sigh, you leaned back and raised your head to press your lips to his. You brushed your lips against his, each word coming through your kisses. “I’ll,” another, “be,” another, “okay.” Your dewy forehead pressed against his, your eyebrows furrowing. Your voice was soft. “You can be rougher if you need to be, It’s okay,” you said again. 

“Sweet girl,” He cooed, making sure to rub the tip of his nose against yours in reply. He shifted slightly so he could use both hands now to hold you up, hands resting on the sensitive skin between your bum and upper thigh. He eased his hips forward, testing to see if you truly meant what you said. When you winced but made no move to stop his affection, he pressed a kiss to your forehead before moving his face so he could rest against your cheek. 

His slim hips began to rock into you with more intent, more precision to the depth of which he moved into you. From your position above him still, you were able to feel the muscles in his lower belly begin to quiver and you briefly marvelled that he had been telling the truth in that he was already so overstimulated and sensitive that he was already on the edge of his own release. 

“Applesauce.” 

As if someone had dumped a bucket of ice cold water on him, Alastor immediately stopped his actions, lean frame seeming to freeze underneath you. He lifted his head so he could sit back a bit and meet your eyes with his own. 

However, instead of pain or tears on your cheeks, you had a very _knowing_ and cheeky grin on your face. You couldn’t even help the laugh that bubbled in your chest. “It worked.” You whispered to yourself mostly in wonder. Some voice in the back of your head said something along the lines of ‘ _of course it worked, dumbass._ ’ Shaking your head slightly, you leaned into him. “How much self control do you have?” You murmured against his lips. “Give me a number.” 

Alastor sputtered, eyes growing wide slightly before he seemed to catch the curve of your grin, and you were able to watch as his own matching grin slowly spread over his features. He gave you a close look, his head tilting to one side as though outwardly showing his growing curiosity as to what you might have in mind.

With a smirk to match the glint in his eye, he leaned in close enough so that his lashes fluttered against the skin of your cheek, “Whatever do you have in mind, little girl?” His voice was soft but teasing; your core clenched on its own accord, reactive to even just his voice. 

“Gimme a number. One through ten.” You made no move to further explain yourself, quirking an eyebrow at him.

“Seven,” His lips quirked to match your own sly smile. “Lucky number after all.” He gave you a wink. 

Oh, this poor man. Oh, this poor buffoon. “Seven? Last chance to change it. If you stick with it, you _have_ to keep it.” 

Alastor narrowed his eyes, traces of amusement slowly leaving his face, only for something to pass over his features that you couldn’t quite place. The lamp light flickered again, before it suddenly brightened drastically and - 

_POP!_ The small bulb inside burst, sending the room into pitch darkness. A breeze picked up, the curtains over his window fluttering in a way that made it sound as though whispers were filling the room. You tightened your hold against Alastor and, just as you were able to snap at him to let you go, light flooded the room once more. 

You blinked in the sudden brightness, your eyes watering slightly. The room was brighter than it had been before, and while your mind sluggishly tried to piece together what the hell you had just witnessed, Alastor moved below you, bringing your (slightly still dazed) attention back to him. 

“Two,” He nipped your bottom lip, his dark eyes flashing with the challenge that also laced his tone. 

To get back at him, however, you narrowed your eyes. “Change of rules. You have to stick with the first number you picked. Sorry, I don’t make the rules.” You did. With a shrug, you met his challenge head on by lowering your face closer to his and nipping _his_ lip. “Here’s how it works… You can reach the edge, but when you do, you have to stop until the urge stops. You have to do this,” you purred, “seven times.” 

The man’s mouth dropped slightly, although he caught himself perhaps sooner than you would’ve liked - something about seeing him absolutely flabbergasted made giggles bubble up inside you - and instead he clicked his tongue. 

“Darling, that’s hardly…”

“A challenge? Wanna make it ten?” Your eyes brightened. “ _Fifteen?”_

“I meant fair, you wild dame!” He cried, but there was ill hidden laughter in his tone. Alastor’s eyes traveled down over your exposed chest and the rest of your form before moving back up to meet your look head on. “But I’ll take any twisted form of affection your cold heart deems me worthy of…”

He tacked on a horrible, suffering sigh; the twitching of his lips gave him away, the jest of his joke all too easy to see. His poker face was horrible when it came to you. 

In a manner that was not at all unlike his own, you scoffed and brought your hand to your heart. “After all we’ve been through…” you gave an experimental rough roll of your hips. “Ladies and gentlemen, the audacity this man has is astronomical!” You reached up and flicked him between the eyes.

And then you stuck your tongue out at him. “Payback.” 

He blinked owlishly at the flick you gave him, given that it didn’t hurt all that much, but the feel of you finally moving against him once more took away whatever quip he had, his protest dying on his tongue as your inner walls gripped him. 

Despite the playful air, you pressed your lips to his again, your eyes softening. “‘M just playing,” you mumbled against him before you leaned back. “Can we try something? It’s a new position.” _Something that would make it harder for him._

He eyed you warily for a moment, something akin to a small pout coming over him. As much as he was normally driven by his curiosity, the idea of moving and losing contact with your body yet again made some weirdly hollow ache bloom in his chest. He sighed and rubbed his face against your neck, his breath washing over you, “As you wish,” he murmured into you. “Just show me what you need, sweetheart.” 

Pressing your lips to his cheek, you pulled his hands off of you and, escaping his grasp, slid off of him (surprisingly, you hated the sudden feeling of being so _empty)_ , and sat up to slide off of the bed. Leaning over, you took his hand in yours and led him to follow you with a small tug. Walking over to the mirror, you looked to him then. 

“Can you move this real fast?” It was in the way. 

He gave you a bow that edged on being sarcastic but still held his usual flair, before moving to heft the mirror up and over a shoulder (you greedily drank in the sight of the muscles in his broad back bunching) and then moved to return it to its usual resting place on the wall across the room. When he had returned to your side, he shifted uneasily on the balls of his feet and then reached out his hand, palm up, as though waiting for you to once again take the lead.

With a gentle smile, you lead his hand to the right side of your waist so that you could turn your back to him. Walking towards the bed again, then, moving your hair over your shoulder to bare your neck to him, you leaned over the edge of the bed and onto the mattress, your legs still hoisting you up.

In fact, when you looked back at him, you gave him a little show of shaking your bum at him. Always best to use what the Lord gave you. A laugh tumbled from your lips, a stupid grin forming on them as you rested your cheek against the mattress in order to still be able to see him through your peripherals.

He gave a pleased grunt at the sight you offered now; the new position angled your body in such a way that completely opened you up to him, and he felt his length twitch and bounce slightly in response. He ran the hand you had placed on your side up along your ribcage until it met with the hair you had tossed over your shoulder. He took a moment then to run his fingers through your tresses, just as much for his own selfish need as for your own comfort. 

“Lean over me and put your hands over mine, baby.” You whispered comfortingly, a coo to your words. Experimentally, you placed your hand at the sides of your shoulders, palms down on the quilt.

Alastor took a step so he was able to move flush against you and leaned over, pressing small kisses up your back until he met your shoulder blade.

He removed the hand from your hair and ran both hands down the lengths of your arms, his long, lanky frame curving over you so that his head came to nestle against your neck. He sighed your name, the word in itself sounding both like a curse and praise at the same time, and laid his large hands over the backs of your own, his fingers moving to fill the spaces between yours with startling familiarity. 

From this position, his weeping cock pressed to the back of your thighs, each involuntary twitch smearing his own slick across your skin. He gave a small roll of his hips, testing to see if he met resistance; the height difference between you two meant he briefly had to remove one hand to better help you angle your hips. And then, with a kiss to the patch of skin between your shoulder blades, he pushed forwards and _up_ , finally bottoming out, his pelvis flush against you. 

It felt different this time, you felt _fuller_ (was that even a word), and for the first time you were so desperately happy that you were so turned on right now, because if you hadn’t been, you were pretty sure paired with your soreness that, thankfully, had dispersed, it would hurt like a motherfucker. 

“Alastor…” you whispered, leaning your own head against his -which had rested against the side of yours- before moving to return to resting your cheek against the mattress. 

Your head, however, was closer to his hand then, and you pressed a kiss to his fingers. And even though you _knew_ he couldn’t say it back, you would never force him to, you couldn’t help but let him know. “Love you so much.” Your voice was wavering between a slur and whine. 

His hand was resting between your shoulder blades, just enough pressure against your spine to help keep it slightly curved and your hips raised to him. He sighed your name, and briefly moved to trail his hand back down to your hips where he caressed your skin, humming in appreciation and hoping from the soft rocking of his hips you would understand you felt better than he thought he could find the words to describe. 

“You feel good, m’love…” He slurred, his own accent thickening his tone. He had shut his eyes briefly as the sensation your shifting body brought, feeling almost drunk on the stimulation he was finally receiving. “Always so good for me, darling-” 

Alastor ran his hand back down to the space just between your shoulders and below the nape of your neck. With slight pressure, he was again able to curve your spine in such a way that tilted your hips so that he rubbed against all the right places. His other hand was still resting over your hand, and he gave you what he hoped was a comforting squeeze, suddenly overtaken by the need to let you know that he understood the extent of what you offered given everything that had occurred previously. 

To say your belly did flips was the understatement of the year. If you had been more lucid in reality as he rocked into you, your eyes probably would have flown open to seek out his own, but all you could do was focus on how he felt inside of you. 

“‘M your good girl,” you gasped at one particular thrust of his hips, his length hitting you in a spot that made pleasure crest in your body. “Always gonna be your good girl,” you cooed. 

Your body was pliant and accepting under his affections, your walls greedily clenching around him in a way that he knew meant he would quickly be approaching the edge of his own pleasure. The hand that laid on top of your own gave a light squeeze, his fingers curling under your palm. 

Alastor panted your name, his face having come to rest just at the nape of your neck, so he was hunched over you, mouth pressed openly against your skin, “I’m close, sweetheart, you’re _tight_ -” His hips stuttered for a moment and he gave an involuntary gasp, “Please, let me… let me cum, darling.”

“... Nope.” Despite your pleasure, you couldn’t help the smart-assed smile on your lips. 

With a groan that bordered on being more of a whine, Alastor stilled as he had promised he would, although he selfishly kept himself buried to the hilt, his pelvis pressed as close to you as he could manage. 

“Cruel, vile woman!” He cried into you, your hair and his position against your skin causing his voice to sound muffled. 

You peeked an eye open, albeit being completely unable to see him. “How’s the weather up there?” 

With a soft cry of your name, he moved back just enough to be able to give you a quick, yet still soft spank, his calloused palm landing on the sensitive skin just above where your bum met your upper thigh.

“You know,” you glared back at him playfully, “I was going to be nice and only make you do it one more time, but now I’m thinking eight is a good number.” You huffed, before tearing your gaze away. You even went so far as to move your hand from his to inspect your nails, laughter bubbling up in your throat.

The hand that had landed on you was rubbing patterns into your skin, Alastor merely watching you with a quirked eyebrow as you continued to lord your sudden power over him. It made a strange sense of pride bloom in his chest, knowing he had picked such a delightfully petty creature to be his own. 

“Darling,” 

“Hm.” You had the audacity to sound almost _bored._

His hand stilled for the briefest of moments, caught off guard slightly - you were sure he was wearing that stupid half pout again - before he moved to tuck his hand to the crux of your legs, so that his arm curved around you and he was able to reach your little pearl of nerves while rocking into you. 

“Dearest, little darling sweetheart of mine,” He simpered down to you, his fingers working their usual magic, stroking along your folds. “ _Please_ …” He moved to whisper into the ear closest to him, making sure his lips brushed lightly over the shell of it. He knew the effect his voice had on you, and wasn’t above playing that particular card. 

Your eyelids fluttered closed as the sparks of pleasure ran up your thighs, half tempted to just let him, and the other half wanting him to do it another ten times. “Mmmaybe.” You trailed off, never giving him the ‘yes’ he so desperately craved. You felt like a villain stroking a hissing cat in a swivel seat, all of the power in the world in your hands. 

Alastor gave a particularly firm swirl to your clit, making your hips jerk in his hold on their own accord, as though to test how far he might be able to tease you back, “You horribly mean creature… you’re stunning…” He crooned. 

He angled his hips a little more on his next thrust forward, making sure he rubbed against the sweet spot hidden inside before he bottomed out. “Such a beautiful little thing, stretched around me.”

Regardless of the punishment you were seemingly attempting to dole out against him, the man was utterly taken with you, whether he would learn to admit it or not. 

He already had you coming undone, and you panted against the quilt as you let your hand fall to it, clenching the fabric tightly. “You’re perfect…” you whispered back to him, your heart rate rising in tandem to his tender movements. “Can’t believe you’re mine,” you murmured, your bravado escaping you as you were hit with a wave of emotion (curse your hormones and sentimental outlook on life, you were having so much fun).

“Alastor…” you gasped, whining as he hit that spot inside you. As high and mighty as you appeared to be only moments ago, like some switch had been flicked, you were now falling into that rhythmic pattern the closer you got to your second orgasm. 

The muscles in his lower belly were beginning to quiver again, although he knew you were too wrapped up in your own pleasure to truly notice, and while he wasn’t sure just how long you’d allow him to go before you’d grow suspicious and make him stop, he was almost starved feeling. 

Your inner muscles were fluttering around him, gripping and massaging his length and it was only when the rhythm of his hips began to falter did he finally still once again, panting harshly in the evening air.

He said your name, a questioning tone to his words. 

You gave his hand an experimental squeeze. “Be rough when you do...”

It was as if some rubber band snapped in his gut; at your voice, Alastor pulled back just enough to better angle your pelvis, before he drove back into your body. You accepted him easily, your own slick starting to travel down the length of one of your thighs. Your ears were filled with the sharp sounds of his skin hitting yours as he continued, of the obscene sounds your body was making under his touch, his pants and growls punctuating it all. 

His other hand had sought out your clit, nimble fingers dancing over the swollen bud with just the right steady pressure. All too soon, the fire that had been flickering in your belly began to grow, licks of pleasure sparking all along your spine. He was reaching all the right spots, your muscles trembling, sweat breaking out across your forehead.

One last particularly deep thrust was all it took to suddenly pitch you over the edge, your pleasure crashing over you like a tidal wave. You squeezed your eyes shut tightly against the onslaught, fingers digging into the bedding while your mouth dropped open, his name falling from your lips. 

It was enough of an invitation for Alastor to finally give in; with another few thrusts, he felt the dam in his core burst. He moaned your name, his voice high pitched and somehow still breathy (it sent some strong aftershock of pleasure coursing through your core just by sound alone) and buried himself as deep as he could as he emptied himself within you. 

Alastor pitched forward, his form quivering slightly, and he pressed an open mouthed kiss to the nape of your neck, before trailing his lips along the top of your shoulder. He cooed your name again, nose coming to trace the curve of your cheek bone as you simply laid there, body still limp and lax after everything you had just experienced. 

With a heavy, shaky breath, and, coming down from your high, you tilted your upper torso sideways, your forearm holding you up so that you were finally able to reach back and lead his mouth to yours. There were no words needed to be said and, despite the awkward position, you were able to attempt to slot your lips against his. “You never fail to amaze me,” you whispered, your eyes soft. 

He somehow managed to lean over you even more, and pressed his mouth to yours even harder, his urgency hinting at the sudden wave of emotions that had crested in his chest, “Nor do you, sweetheart.” He traced the length of your nose with the tip of his own, although the shift meant a little more of his weight landed on you. 

Perhaps noticing, Alastor gathered you around the waist and hoisted you up slightly - once again his strength surprised you, given how thin he was - and moved to sit on the bed. He slipped from you, both of you making soft sounds at the separation (but you knew you would be even more sore later and were still somewhat grateful for the break). 

Just as you were about to sit up and say something back, a loud growl that made you freeze - and for a split second your mind thought it was that monster you convinced yourself lived in the house - before you realized it was only your stomach. Sitting up on your knees, you looked down at your belly curiously. “Um,” you laughed a single note, tilting your head slightly. “I guess I shouldn’t accidentally skip meals now that I’m eating for two,” you looked up then to meet his gaze.

He dropped a hand to rest on your belly, just below your belly button, without thinking. Your eyes immediately softened at the contact, but you made no move to move as if you were afraid of scaring him away. You watched as his hand circled, rubbing softly; you felt giddiness unexpectedly bubbling up in your chest and you had to look away briefly to contain yourself.

You only looked back when his hand left, the loss of contact alerting you to the change. He had moved away to his wardrobe and was pawing through a drawer, before he grabbed a shirt and quickly threw it over his arms. 

“Princess want some gumbo?” He ridiculously adopted some back-water accent you might hear in some picture show. You couldn’t stop the giggles from escaping then. 

“Yes please.” You couldn’t help from bouncing on your knees, the bed squeaking a few times before you paused. “But I could go for anything right now,” you lowered your gaze to your belly, “I think _he_ can too.” 

Alastor’s entire body twitched. 

“He?” His eyes met yours, wide and staring even though he had yet to find his glasses again. “He as in…” He gestured lamely at your midsection, brain churning at half speed. 

You laughed softly. “Yeah, I got a feeling it’s a he.” You weren’t quite sure why. 

He moved quickly then to press a kiss to your mouth, one hand coming up to cup just behind your ear so your head tilted just right. It was jarringly tender in light of what had just occurred between the two of you, and your stomach did a few flips in response. 

“Any child you gift me will be perfect,” He breathed as he pulled away from you. “But I must admit I rather hope you're right.”

Sliding off of the bed to stand next to him, you brought his hand to your lips and, leaning down to grab the glasses that were very conveniently placed on the floor, offered them to him with a half-assed curtsy. “M’lord…” You couldn’t help the laugh that fled from you before you pressed into his side. 

“Even if I’m wrong, you’ll be a wonderful daddy.” You gave his hand a comforting squeeze.

He had huffed a laugh at your actions, but now ran a comforting thumb over your knuckles as your hand settled in his. He lifted it and pressed his lips so the same spot his thumb had been, before lowering it so he could tug you into his arms easier. He slotted his mouth to yours, fully intent on kissing you until you were properly breathless. 

“You,” He murmured once he pulled away, your panting filling his ears. “You will be just as equally a wonderful mother, darling.”

For the second time, your stomach growled _loudly._ “Might have to get used to him ruining the moment,” you sighed softly, finally catching your breath. Your eyes landed to his clothing that was still over his shoulder, and, walking behind him, you grabbed it before he had time to protest. “Thank youuuuuu-” You sang.

“Terrible thief!” He cried before spinning dramatically back to his dresser. Within no time at all, you lamented slightly, he was dressed in a simple button up and a pair of his boxers (he felt sure he would make it to the kitchen and back without being spotted).

“The only thing I’ve ever stolen,” you could afford to be cheesy, “is your heart- thank you very much.” You shook your head and put on the new pair of boxers (albeit they did slip off of you until you sat on the bed) and the shirt. 

Alastor stalked over to you then, a light smirk on his handsome face. He tipped your chin up with one finger and once again slotted his lips to fit the space of your own. He hummed against your mouth, sending pleasing shivers along the seam of your lips that were echoed along the run of your spine. 

Before you could further fall into his kisses, you threw your arms and legs out dramatically, and leaned back. “Carry me.”

You didn’t see it, but you knew he rolled his eyes. 

“Come now, darling...” His silky tone was back, although it was slightly overexaggerated to show his teasing. “It’s hardly appropriate for me to just lift you like a sack of potatoes and carry you through-out the house…”

“Think of it as practice, because when I’m all big and swollen with _your_ child, you’re going to carry me everywhere.” There was no room for argument. ”Come on big boy,” you motioned to yourself, “up and at em.” You fell back onto the bed, lifting your arms to him.

Needing no more prompting to be dramatic, Alastor promptly swooped in and scooped you into his arms. He made sure to swing you just so, your belly flipping with an excited jolt and a small squeal bubbling from your throat. He pressed his mouth to yours once more, before adjusting you slightly so he could better move forward. 

“Gumbo for three, coming up.” 


	10. Teasing, With A Side Of Taking It Too Far

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> warning(s): paranormal themes, pregnancy side-effects

Fireplaces never failed to relax you. There was something about them that caused you to fall into a state of bliss; perhaps it was the crackling and popping of the wood, watching as it spat out glowing embers, or maybe it was because you rather enjoyed the dim lighting. You had always been sensitive to heat, not being someone who enjoyed long exposures to it and oftentimes if you did, you got irritated. 

But fireplaces were mesmerizing to watch, the flames lapping at the stone and wood in a grand spectacle that ushered you into a state of relaxation. Curled into a throw blanket atop the couch helped your sudden soreness as well.

Alastor had placed you in his living room before heading towards the kitchen, occasionally causing you to hear the clashing of silverware and dishes against each other. With the rim of the blanket covering the top of your head, you curled into yourself as you rested your head atop the cushioning. For one reason or another, your body thought that now would be a  **_fantastic_ ** time to remind you of your delicate state; a wave of nausea rolling your stomach and making your soreness that much more of a pain to deal with. 

You had let him,  _ encouraged  _ him to be rough with you, and now you were paying the price for it.

Despite the thought of eating having made your stomach growl only a handful of moments before the gradual nausea took its hold on you _ ,  _ you had completely lost your appetite. Your stomach growled in a different, more uncomfortable way this time, and when you tried to get off of the couch, your thighs (that would undoubtedly be bruised in the morning) were introduced to a wave of discomfort. 

You winced.

“A-Al?” Your eyes shifted towards the light that originated from the kitchen. “Can you…” Your eyebrows furrowed as that semi-familiar salty and slightly acidic taste began to well up in your throat. You swallowed harshly. “Can you please bring out a trash can?” Your voice was quieter than before in an attempt to hold back the desire as long as possible. Your fingertips clenched the soft blanket a bit tighter, your hands growing a bit clammy as you bit back on the urge to throw your guts up. Deep breaths, deep breaths.

Despite being excited at the entire aspect of it, you were beyond terrified.

From his place in the kitchen, Alastor immediately noted the delicate strain of worry in your voice, his head moving in your direction almost instantly.

He eyed the stove and the pot of gumbo he had brought to a simmer, briefly lamenting that it would most likely no longer be a suitable meal. It had been a while since your last severe bout of morning sickness had hit, your empty stomach doing you no favours. 

Within a few strides, his long legs carried him across the living space, a small bin he had grabbed off the shelf in his hand. He came to a stop just in front if you, container offered in one outstretched hand. He cast his eyes over your form, catching your tense shoulders and your rigid spine. 

Once you had grabbed the bin from him, Alastor dropped to his knees in front of you, a strange look of concern on his face. Seeing you in such a vulnerable state stoked the fire of possession in his chest.

"Are you alright?" He murmured softly to you, his tone just loud enough that you could hear him over the crackling ambiance of the fireplace. 

The nausea clawed at your throat, your baby hairs beginning to stick just below your temples as you hastily removed the blanket from you. Everything was too  _ hot  _ all of the sudden, the fireplace aiding in nothing other than the sound and, what was once a comfortable warmth, made your skin break out into a sweat. Leaning over the bin, you opened your mouth and began to pant softly, your stomach churning and sloshing around uncomfortably until it became too much that, suddenly, you pitched over and emptied your stomach into it.

Albeit, there wasn’t much in your stomach to begin with, so what mostly came up was bile alone. It burned your throat as you heaved in your breath to the best of your ability. It was only the beginning of the pregnancy and you were really starting to not like the side effects. But at least you hadn’t been in public this time. The desire to puke again made you lean into the bin again, but when you only gagged, you slowly closed your mouth. There wasn’t anything else  _ to  _ release. 

For a long moment, you remained quiet to catch your breath.

“This is not what I meant by ‘go easy on me’,” you mumbled into it, a slight echo to your voice. Alastor most likely would have had no clue what you were talking about, but that was because you weren’t talking to  _ him.  _ Shakily, you lifted your head and instinctively pulled the borrowed shirt sleeve down to wipe off the remains of your upchuck. When you realized what you had done, you leaned back with a groan.

“‘M sorry, I’ll get you a new one.” Whether you were talking about the bin or shirt, you weren’t too sure yourself. You rested your forearm over your eyes, a small frown upon your lips. Suddenly, you didn’t feel all that great. 

Still on his knees, Alastor reached out and tucked a stray strand of hair behind one ear,"Don't worry about the shirt, silly girl." He murmured. Imported or not, it was easily replaced. 

His hand trailed from where he had cupped your cheek then, thumb brushing over soft skin just below your eye - you shifted just slightly to lean into his palm - before it drifted to run soothingly over your shoulder blade and upper back. 

He simply let you try to catch your breath, hoping his touch was comforting rather than a hinderance, but since you had yet to push him away, Alastor continued. He had felt how clammy you were when he had touched your cheek, and in spite of the fire, you looked rather washed out and sickly, a fine layer of perspiration clinging to your skin. 

Admittedly, he felt at a loss. In spite of all his experiences thus far, Alastor had little to do in the way of helping care for any expectant mother, least of all caring for the mother of his child. As he grazed his eyes over your form once more, he decided he would simply wake Maggie should you take a worse turn. 

But for now, he felt driven to at least attempt to help you as best he could, male pride swelling in the face of this small problem. 

"Water, perhaps..." Alastor trailed off, speaking more to himself than you. 

Before waiting for your response, he was on his feet and halfway into the kitchen again before you could sluggishly turn your head to follow his path. Moving your head too quickly made your stomach roll, the sensation of wanting to yet again purge your (empty) stomach swelling in your throat. You clutched the container to yourself a bit tighter, dry heaving despite your best efforts not to. 

You lifted your face just as Alastor's shadow fell over you. You blinked wearily up at him, watching as he sank to his knees again - the height difference plus your position on the couch made it almost necessary for him to do so. In one hand he held out a small cup of water, and in the other he held a small bread roll of some kind. 

He gestured at you with the cup, willing you to take it, "Little sips to start, sweetheart." He practically cooed to you.

Normally open weakness was something that stirred his urges to the surface, agitated him into action; with you, however, he seemed more and more able to subdue his tendencies, worrying only that you and the babe in your belly be safe and comfortable. It made his mind whirl to think on it too long…

It meant something to you that he was doing this. 

In fact, the act of him genuinely appearing concerned made your heart clench, and despite your best efforts, dry heave into the bin again. For a long, extended period, you ignored the water in his hand and instead remained planted exactly where you were until the urge gradually began to retreat. You panted, your eyes closing momentarily as you continued to try to catch your breath and, once you did, you weakly placed the bin down and looked up to him. Did you look like a mess?

Probably.

Gingerly grasping the cup, you took it out of his hand and brought it to your lips. The temperature was a bit colder than you would have liked, hinting at the fact that it had probably not been tap but instead chilled in the refrigerator (or maybe he just had really cold tap water), but it did well to soothe your heated body. Following his directions, you took small sips, allowing the cool liquid to run down your throat and appease that stinging and burning sensation from the remnants of bile. 

Inhaling a great bout of breath when you finally lowered the cup from your lips, you were relieved to find that the impulse had been alleviated. However, you weren’t about to take any chances, so when you turned to lean over the armrest to place the glass onto the table, you did it slowly. Sudden movements seemed to trigger it, you noticed. With a gentle, shaky sigh, you moved the bin off to the side and, sitting up further, you bent over and  _ also  _ dropped to your knees in front of him.

“Thank you,” you whispered, voice a bit hoarse as you grabbed the blanket behind you and pulled it off of the couch and over your shoulders again.

You leaned into his chest then, snuggling between his thighs and making yourself right at home because why the hell not? “Do you think I can phone home later and tell them I’m not coming back tonight?” Your eyes were soft, although he was unable to see them as you looked towards the fireplace; but they held a tiredness to them. The flame had a slight blur to it as you began to close your eyes and nuzzle into his chest.

This pregnancy was already beating the absolute shit out of you. 

Picking up on your exhaustion from the way your form sagged against his, Alastor moved surprisingly gracefully to wrap his arms around you and, with a gentle hoist, had you seated in his lap, his legs criss crossed beneath him. 

With his back flush to the seats, he was able to tuck you under his chin and arrange you in his arms so he could press a palm to your belly and rub soothing circles there. He took a moment to nuzzle his nose into the crown of your hair, finding he was coming rather fond of your particular brand of shampoo, and murmured softly, "Telephones in the kitchen." 

Although he made no certain moves to displace you from his lap. You shifted slightly in your blanket cocoon and his thighs instinctively tightened, his legs locking you in place. 

You found your head naturally navigating back to rest on his sternum, your slightly slouched position causing you to reach a bit lower than you would have originally given your height. A heavy sigh escaped you as you let a small sound of contentment leave your parted lips. You more than welcomed the feeling of him rubbing gentle circles into your belly, and you found that it even aided in relieving the post-stress of your most recent disgusting fiasco. 

You still breathed a bit heavily through your nose, albeit, it wasn’t as forceful as it had been only a moment prior, your heart rate easing into a relaxed pattern as the slight panic ebbed away from his comforting presence. He was lanky, and a bit bony in some places, but he sure as hell wasn’t an uncomfortable individual to lounge upon - he had a lean musculature that showed his masculinity, and the fact that he was drop dead gorgeous to you didn’t help your case in trying to remain in chastity for more than five minutes.

Because let’s face it, now that you were actually resting, you were ridiculously sore. 

“As much as I like being pregnant,” the statement and knowledge of it gave you a rush of excitement and endorphins, “I really want to give a stern talking to the man upstairs.” A pout formed on your lips, and you found yourself overdramatizing the situation  _ just  _ a tad. “And I have to deal with it for nine months. Ridiculous.” You muttered into the blankets. 

“What was He thinking?” You huffed. Your poor mother. Those poor women that had  _ large  _ families. God forbid. You instantly had a dramatic spike in respect for home-wives; a trait that you had lacked in your own naivety for the majority of your life.

From the safety of his position behind you, Alastor rolled his eyes slightly at your dramatics. You were slowly catching up to him in terms of performances, and he was admittedly a little proud. The hand at your belly stilled, and he lifted the other to show he still held the small roll. 

“Eat,” He murmured lowly, lips still at the top of your hair. “I watched Maggie help a lot of expecting mothers with their ailments, and despite how it feels, darling, you need to eat to help with nausea.” He moved both hands away from you then to tear off a small piece of the bread. He lifted it to you, holding it so it brushed lightly at your lips.

Your nose crinkled in distaste. The thought of eating suddenly became unsatisfying to you, and your stomach coiled in what you assumed was disgust. “Don’t care.” You turned your face away to lean back into him again, nuzzling your cheek into his chest. Admittedly, it was a bit childish, but your fucks were nowhere to be found. 

“Darling,” He drawled, moving to brush his lips against your ear, his voice husky. “Sweetest girl, please eat.” While it wasn’t a sure thing, he had had success with his sweet talk in the past, and thought this the simplest way to go. 

“Later.” You mumbled, completely ignoring his attempts of sultry whispers.

“Sweetheart,” This time his voice held a slight warning tone. It may have been the late hour and all the physical excursion over the evening, but as he tired, Alastor could feel his patience beginning to wane.

He would absolutely indulge you every whim. But only once he was back in his comfortable bed. 

“Your body’s working overtime to create this little life, darling.” 

“Well, he can wait.” You had absolutely inherited your mother’s stubbornness. “Just hold me, I’m not even that hungry. Ate earlier.”

Your stomach growled.

You ignored it.

You felt the small puff of air hit the back of your head as Alastor huffed, obviously having caught your stomach’s rumble. He shifted you slightly from your position, hoisting you up to sit a bit higher up. The hand that had been holding the bread appeared, empty, to grasp the tip of your chin. The morsel of food brushed against your lips, just as his lips brushed against your ear again.

“Come now, sweetheart.” His voice was honeyed again, full of his rich timbre. “Be a good girl for daddy and open that pretty mouth of yours…”

The hand at your chin shifted just enough that his thumb and forefinger could rest on each side of the very tip. He gave you the lightest of squeezes, as though warning he would force your mouth open if he had to. 

The initial shock  _ almost  _ made you drop your jaw, but you had wit to you. You comprehended the position you were in, understood it, and instantly began to craft a comeback. 

“Don’t play this game with me,” you said through gritted teeth so while he could have very well put the bread into your mouth, it would never get past your teeth. It was only when you leaned your head back to brush your lips over his cheek (that was now level to your ear) did you finally speak normally.

“Because I’ll win.” You even made sure to roll your hips right into his lap and hit that very sensitive spot. With a wink that was veiled by the darkness, you took the bread piece, and reeled your arm back as far as you could and tossed it into the fire. 

“Oops.” Now you were just trying to make his life difficult. 

In the moment that followed, the only sound was the sizzle as the bread burnt within the logs, the flames greedily consuming it as they did everything. 

“Darling,” Something about the way Alastor crooned his chosen pet name this time made the little hairs on the back of your arms stand to attention. 

He moved quicker than your overtired brain truly had time to comprehend. Within seconds, he had wrapped you up tighter in the blanket, cocooning your arms straight down by your sides so you looked a bit like a toy soldier, and had you laid out on the couch as he loomed over you. 

With a smirk that made you both nervous and feel a flicker of arousal (he was much too handsome for his own good) in your core in spite of everything, he threw one leg over your prone form so he could move to sit just over you. He made sure you took none of his weight, given his position just over your belly, but it at least allowed him to leer down at you. 

“I’m rather tempted to gag you, sweetheart, just to see how pretty you would be.” He murmured, eyes flashing even in the darkness. “But that may be counter productive…” He trailed off and reached for the roll only to rip off another piece and offer it to you. “Last chance, doll.” 

You bared your teeth at the bread. You were being difficult for a reason - you were pretty annoyed that you were the only one to have to go through the physical changes and consequences, while he was perfectly fine. 

But also because you were just as competitive and petty as he was, if not more. So coming from your own annoyance (you really had to hand it to Mother Nature, she was a pain in the ass), you shook your head defiantly, trying to get out of the tight cocoon he had put you in. 

You doubted whatever he would do to you in the next few moments would be worse than what the next nine months had planned for you. 

Alastor sighed, nostrils flaring slightly. He moved so one forearm went to the back of the couch, stretched to take some of his weight so he could press closer to you. He even went so far as to briefly touch the tip of his nose to yours before pulling back, as though offering a moment of connection before he moved to grasp your chin again. His fingers came to rest on your cheeks, just in the groove left in the space in your jaw by your teeth on the other side.

His thumb dug in slightly, the pressure automatically making you fight against the urge to pop your mouth open. His middle finger held your other cheek steady so you couldn’t wiggle your head much, offering you no real chance at fighting him off. 

The damned roll of bread appeared in your line of view yet again, and you felt your brow crease in a slight frown as Alastor pressed the piece to your mouth. The nail on his thumb was beginning to cut a bit into the skin of your cheek, not enough to break the skin, but enough that a small tingle of pain crackled through the bone beneath. 

You had tried your best to squirm, but underneath the hands of a skilled serial killer (unbeknownst to you), and paired with your exhaustion, you didn’t have a lick of fight in you. Finally, you opened your mouth when the pain became a bit too much for your comfort zone, your eyes narrowing as if eating the bread was the worst task you would ever have to endure. 

“Good girl,” the bastard crooned down to you, the same fingers that had dug into your face now soothing over the abused skin as you chewed the bread with a bit more aggression than what was needed. Already, your mind was concocting plans to get back at him, your pettiness at an all time high. 

So you did the only thing you could do when your mind was working at half-speed, and relaxed your expression; your eyes were still on his as you swallowed the bread. Then, a smile appeared on your lips. “You know… T’was good.” You nodded as if the comment needed a good thought process.

Spoiler alert: It didn’t. 

“Why didn’t you just ask?” You couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up in your chest at his expression (you absolutely knew what you were doing but you couldn’t help trying to see how far you could push him). Unfortunately for you, you didn’t know the danger you were actually toying with. 

And perhaps that was in your best interest. 

Alastor bared his teeth at you, although his lips were twitching rather suspiciously. He narrowed his eyes at you and leaned in again, close enough that his breath washed over your face. 

“I’m not used to asking for things, darling, forgive me…” He purred. “I take what I want.” He nipped your bottom lip for good measure. 

“Now,” He sat up straight, caught in the up swing of one of his many changing moods. “Have another bite and I’ll think about letting you loose, silly thing.”

“Wow, you just kissed a girl who threw up.” You wolf-whistled, a laugh cutting it off. You weren’t able to stay serious. “I didn’t take you for a man who got off on that,” you narrowed your eyes challengingly, “BUT! You did say you were a man of taste, so…” 

Despite the statement being disgusting, you opened your mouth and let him put another piece of bread in. Chewing it and then swallowing, you shifted to the best of your ability to lean up closer to him (obviously to no avail). “What if I don’t want you to?” Your eyebrow quirked. “What if I want you to stay right there, on top of me? I must say, Mr. Beauchamp…”

You barked out a laugh. “You are a sight for sore eyes!” 

You were having too much fun. 

Alastor’s grin now fully matched yours, having spread across his face as soon as you acquiesced and ate more of the bread. He stared down at you, his eyes narrowed with playfulness, and clicked his tongue. Dressed still in only his boxers and a shirt, his hair messily pushed back from his face from your constant petting and detangling, the man could only imagine the sight he offered.

“That was hardly a proper kiss, sweetheart.” Alastor cooed and within moments he had swooped down and slotted his lips to yours once more. It was admittedly more chaste than kisses you had shared in the past, but even with all that had occurred, some part of you still relished in the feeling of his mouth on yours. 

“There,” He murmured softly once he had pulled away, although he remained hunched over your still wrapped up and prone form. One arm still rested on the back of the couch, while the other had come to rest on the part of the cushion just beside your head. “Now, Future-Mrs. Beauchamp, do you see the difference?”

Alastor touched his nose to yours then, hands dancing along your sides that were still underwraps and therefore away from his direct touch. Some tiny voice in the back of his mind suggested he remedy that fact and quickly, one finger coming to toy along the edge of the blanket in which you were cocooned. 

Your heart and belly (thankfully this time not betraying your delicate state) flipped, and you found your eyes softening at the title. 

Beauchamp. 

It was a name that you never thought you would possess yourself, hell, you never thought you would ever take on a different surname to begin with. Such a provincial life had never appealed to you, but as if fate itself was having a grand old time kicking you when you were down, you were becoming just that. 

Yeah, real funny. 

But Alastor had a way of making you forget all of the anxieties that had a tendency to make itself known in the depths of your mind. 

Your eyes fluttered open when he pulled away, and some part of you grieved when he did. In all honesty, he wasn’t a sight for sore eyes - he was ridiculously handsome and it made you frustrated at times. The way that the light of the fireplace lapped at his face, the way that it lit him up in different varying degrees of luminescence only caused a soft sigh to escape your lips. 

But who would you be if you weren’t playful? 

“I’m not sure I got that.” The smallest of coy smiles appeared on your expression. “Why don’t you show me again?” You whispered against his lips, tilting your chin up in order to brush them to the best of your ability. 

Alastor huffed a short laugh, the two of you sharing breath for a beat, his mouth tracing the seam of your lips. He stopped short of actual contact and instead braced his forehead against yours gently, ignoring the fact that your skin was still clammy and becoming sticky as it cooled in the evening air.

“Anything.” Alastor murmured. “Anything you want, I’ll make it yours.” His tone was suddenly more serious than you had heard it all evening. The fire still cast elongated shadows over his face; they played tricks on your overtired eyes, making his face warp and twist into something…  _ off _ . 

“Just stay by my side…”

His mouth surged against yours then, his lips claiming yours urgently. His bottom lip was cradling yours just so, and it took no time for his tongue, warm and slick, to sweep along the sensitive skin there, seeking entrance. 

Seeing as you were currently tightly bound in the blanket and that he was still looming over you, great lanky frame effectively keeping you pinned just as well as anything, you tilted your head slightly to one side, slotting your nose against the side of his, hoping it was enough to communicate your acceptance. 

A hand came to cup behind your ear, supporting your face as Alastor deepened the kiss. For one terribly distracting moment, you wondered if there might be any lingering aftertaste you should worry about, but the man was clearly much too intent on continuing his amorous actions for it to have been an issue, and so you simply let yourself melt into it. It was a searing, breath stealing kiss and you felt your chest cave with giddiness; in spite of the very real ache between your legs and the soreness of your inner muscles, you still felt another flicker of desire flutter in your core. 

When Alastor did finally pull away, it was with a smirk playing on his lips and a teasing tone in his voice, “Perhaps I  _ should _ keep you like this, darling. Much easier to keep you all to myself.” He tapped the tip of your nose for added dramatics. 

You felt like a fish out of water, gasping for air when he did finally separate from you. Although, your breath was ragged through your nose than your actual lips, uncertain if he would rather push his onto you before he would allow you to get a full breath in. It was almost ridiculous with how much of an effect he had on you, but you couldn’t exactly complain when you wanted nothing more than his affection twenty-four-seven. As impossible as that was, you really were proud of him for being more open to your own affections.

You weren’t unaware of how touchy you were, but it was something that you either had to leash or for him to get used to; it was a trait that you had always possessed, finding it easier to communicate through body language and physical touch than words. But preferred methods weren’t the only ones. 

“Mm… Keep me?” You tilted your head, your accent slipping through a bit thicker than you had revealed before, but perhaps that was because of the fact that you were trying to be quiet. You weren’t in the safety of his bedroom anymore.

For a moment you found yourself lost in thought; in the eyes of the law and God, you would eventually belong to each other under your vows. There was a flash of anxiety in your gut then, because as much as you disliked the entire idea of each woman following the same, boring path in life, it scared you shitless to think of being without him. 

Even with your very, very,  _ very  _ brief time together, you were already becoming rather dependent on him; and with each passing moment, you fell deeper into that place of no return where you  _ couldn’t  _ see yourself anywhere or with anyone that wasn’t him. “You know,” You hesitated, blinking yourself out of your reverie with a small, hopeful smile; your eyes softened as well. “I wouldn’t have any objections if I didn’t have to call home.”  _ Or brush your teeth, or pee really, really bad. _

Your bladder was practically screaming at you.

“I promise,” you leaned up to him then and nuzzled your nose against his. “You can have me all to yourself after I do that.”

Much to your surprise (and most likely to his own as well), Alastor made the same strange keening sound he had produced earlier, the noise rumbling from within the depths of his chest, as though to protest the conversation not quite going the way he had desired. Still, your point was more than valid and given the hour growing steadily late, he had to agree it was the next best step. With one last sigh, the man lifted himself off you with his usual grace, although his brow was slightly creased. 

Another moment passed in which you quirked an expectant eyebrow and Alastor merely raked his eyes over your form one last time. He gave one last long suffering sigh, which made you roll your eyes (after all, he wasn’t the one bound and with a painfully full bladder) and then finally moved to begin unwrapping you. 

It was easy enough work, although he did have to stop briefly to tenderly lift you into more of a sitting position so he could unwind the tangled blanket from around your feet and calves, but before too long you were free and standing before him. Your limbs were a bit numb from lack of use, so you wobbled slightly. 

Alastor offered his hand, palm up as was his custom, “ ‘Phone first, and then we can get you cleaned up, sweetheart.” His selfishness burst through despite his best efforts and his hand came to close upon your dainty wrist so he could tug you to him. His mouth naturally found your forehead, lips brushing against the skin there with warm familiarity.

After a moment of quiet affection, and you accepted it with a small sound of your own while standing on your tippy-toes to lean up and press your lips to the corner of his mouth in a chaste kiss when he pulled away, you turned your attention back towards the kitchen and, with him still holding onto your wrist, navigated through the dark and into the small cooking area. 

There, atop the stove was a pot with a darkened stew. The smell hit you instantaneously, and you subconsciously licked your lips. Maybe not now, but later you would absolutely have to gorge yourself on the gumbo. Off to the right was the small table that you had been at earlier - to be fair, it had felt like so long ago - which was now free of the cards that had held your fate. It only took you a moment longer to find the telephone, and once you did, you made your way towards it.

It shouldn’t have been as nerve wracking as it was, because the moment you spun the dial for your number and put the telephone up to your ear, you leaned against the counter with your lower back and anxiously tapped your nails on the counter. You met Alastor’s eye briefly, but he was of no aid. If he said anything, god forbid your father picked up and he heard a  _ man,  _ you would absolutely be in for it; no matter  _ how  _ kind your father was. There was an unspoken line, and you had dared to cross it almost four weeks ago. Deep breaths.

_ “Hello?” _

A young feminine voice picked up and, because you so rarely called your own home, it took you a moment to place the voice. “Ruth? What are you doing up? Nevermind, where’s dad?”

There was silence on the other line for a long minute.  _ “Um…”  _ Her voice trailed off as if she had leaned away from the phone for a second.  _ “Sleepin’.”  _

Ah, well at least he wasn’t worrying. 

_ “Where are you?”  _

You blinked owlishly. “Uh… I am at…” You eyed Alastor for help, but he seemed far too interested in whatever the newspaper had to say, suddenly. With a roll of your eyes, you were about to open up your mouth when:

“ _ Are you at Alastor’s house?” _

You and Alastor stiffened simultaneously. How in the hell…?

There was a loud gasp on the other side, and that was what caused you to snap out of your brief shock.

“Okay, okay, Ruth? Listen to me, I need you to do something that’s really important—“ 

_ “YOU’RE AT ALASTOR’S HOUSE!?” _

You winced and pulled the phone away from your ear, before mouthing ‘Ruth’ over to Alastor. “... Yes, but don’t tell dad. If you keep it a secret, I’ll have him make you a card or something.” You were willing to negotiate. 

_ “A card?”  _ She almost sounded disinterested. 

“Ugh! I don’t know! What do you like? What do you want?” 

_ “I wanna go dancing with him.” _

You pulled the phone back and looked down at it with a befuddled expression. She never talked about dancing or showed an interest in it. With a sigh, you leaned back against the counter a bit more. “Okay, okay,  _ Alastor-“  _ you said a bit louder to get his attention, “-will go dancing with you  _ if!  _ And only if! You come up with a plan to make sure dad doesn’t find out I didn’t come home.” 

There was a high pitched hum in response. 

_ “Deal!”  _

You let out a loud sigh of relief. “Thank god.” You murmured. “Thank you, love you Ruth. I’ll be back in the morning.” 

With a quick dismissive response of ‘yeah, yeah,’ you hung up the phone and turned to look in the direction of Alastor. 

“So…” You let out an anxious laugh. Ruth was definitely a handful, but it made you long to hear her voice again and keep her in New Orleans. Moving off of the counter then, you went and snaked your arms around his waist. “Can you take Ruth out dancing one of these days?” You murmured into his shirt. 

When in doubt, try affection.

You felt Alastor’s chuckle just as much through his shirt as you heard it. His arms mimicked yours and wrapped around you just as tightly, one hand coming to stroke the delicate skin just below the nape of your neck. 

“I see how it is now, use me for your own desires and then when you tire,” Alastor murmured to the crown of your head. “Offer my wares in turn for favors… wicked creature, I’m so proud of you.” His voice betrayed his teasing as he gave you a gentle squeeze, making sure not to jostle you anymore in case another wave of morning sick struck. 

_ Not exactly what you had meant to do, but okay. _

“Your sister is just as charming as you are, sweetheart. I’d be happy to take the little darling out for a spin around the dance floor.” He ran his nose along the length of yours, pausing at the very end to give you an eskimo kiss. “Now, let’s say we get you set and then I will whip up a bowl of gumbo for you two-” His hand landed on your lower belly, thumb hooking your belly button just tough to make you squirm slightly. 

Alastor let go of you then, rather sooner than perhaps you expected as you wobbled, your muscles still not fully stretched out after your prolonged stay on the couch. His hand came to grasp you by the elbow and with a gentle urge, he had you walking towards the modest bathroom, even though the house remained mostly hidden in shadow. 

His familiarity within the walls showed in how easily he was able to prowl down the hallway, the inky darkness doing nothing to make him falter or take a misstep. His grip moved from your elbow to take you by the hand instead, the calloused skin of his palm feeling like it  _ belonged _ next to yours. 

It never ceased to leave you in a state of pleasant surprise when he did in fact offer you minute shows of affection, even through day to day activities and less… carnal relations. Your stride was a bit slower than his, considering how much leg the man had and the fact that you were still very much sore. Since it had been a hot minute since you had last been forced to walk a distance, your body thought it a wonderful time to send shooting sparks of pain up your thighs.

You made no sound against it, your expression concealed by the shadows of the hall, but your hand did tighten a bit in his. 

It unnerved you how easily he was able to move in the dark, but you supposed when you lived in a house the entirety of your life, he could have very well navigated it with his eyes closed. You had never tried it with your own home, but you doubted risking injury to yourself by doing something stupid like that (although it was intriguing) was a good idea indeed.

_ Especially  _ now.

When Alastor paused in front of you, you nearly walked straight into him, only stopping short before you did. “Oh.” You were at your destination. Your bladder clenched, suddenly remembered. “Just… stay out here, ‘kay?” You didn’t give him much time to respond because when you unwound your fingers from the spaces of his own, you ducked underneath his arm to open the bathroom door and let yourself in.

Thankfully, it didn’t take you long to relieve yourself.

And soon enough, as you flickered the small light on, you were left staring at your own reflection in the mirror. With a gentle sigh, you moved your hand down to your belly, the flesh there not at all stretched or betraying your delicate state.  _ Pregnancy.  _ It was hard to imagine the true gravity of the situation, and to say you had been running off of adrenaline from the moment you had found out would not be far from the truth. 

You probably would have stayed there for far longer if the tiled floor wasn’t cold against your feet, your fiancé (god, that sounded weird to say) wasn’t outside the door, and you weren’t standing in an ‘imported’ shirt that you had unfortunately spilled your guts on. It wouldn’t do anymore. Pulling the shirt over your head, you instinctively brought it to your chest before opening the door slightly to peer out of it with big eyes. 

You reached out with the hand that wasn’t holding the shirt, and grabbed the back of his own shirt to tug him into the bathroom with you. When you did, you closed the door with a small  _ click _ , and peered up at him curiously. “So- two things. One, I either need you to sneak me back into your room, go grab a shirt for me, or…” You moved to stand just before him with a silly expression, your hand coming to pull at the hem of his shirt. 

Then, still holding the ruined one against your chest as if the two of you weren’t accustomed already to each other’s bodies, you looked off to the side towards the sink. 

“Annnnd do you have another toothbrush I could use?” 

Alastor raked his gaze over the bits of exposed flesh your sudden modesty failed to conceal; he had wondered if you might react to seeing the faint cuts still covering your body, but as he noticed now the dried blood had flaked off during your sleep, the cuts themselves so faint and faded they looked more like odd scratches.

Given how distracted you both had been, the man wasn't too surprised you failed to remember them. The effect had long since worn off as had the blood, but he knew the sigil well and couldn't stop himself from tracing the shape of it with the edge of his thumbnail.

_ Protection. Safety. _

Alastor would litter your entire body with them if he had to; anything to keep you and the small life inside your belly away from the all too real dangers that his lifestyle brought-

With a smirk to tease your sudden modesty, Alastor remained silent but all too happily shrugged off his own button up to offer to you. He held it out on one long finger, and only once you had snatched it away did he turn and begin rustling through the small cabinet that was neatly tucked in the corner.

When the man pulled back, he held a clean toothbrush and a small wash cloth. He gently handed them to you before leaning possessively over you (so you were forced to lean, arching your back slightly), leering smirk on his face, as he reached for just past your cheek -

Your eyes had fluttered shut, perhaps expecting a kiss; therefore it was a small surprise when you felt Alastor press a small container of some sort into your arms. When you looked down, you noticed the small plastic bottle of mouthwash, and felt your cheeks flush.

Alastor tapped you on the nose, “Finish up, doll.” He moved to reach for the door, pausing once his lanky frame was half way out. “I'll get working on that gumbo...” He left you with a wink, shutting the door softly behind him. 

You blinked at the space he had once been in. It never failed to surprise you how fast he moved, or how easily he caused you to feel like a deer in headlights. With a sigh, you turned around, twisted off the cap, and cleaned out your mouth. Oh, you hated the burn. Your face immediately twisted up and, reaching towards the sink knob, you turned on the cold water and spit it out after a few moments of washing out your mouth. 

Needless to say, it didn’t take you very long to ‘finish up’, more so than coming to stare at your reflection in the mirror. You turned to the side then, lifting up your shirt just enough to look down at the flat plane once again as if expecting some sort of change that you hadn’t seen a few minutes ago. Nothing. You both longed for the moment that you would begin showing and feared it. Swallowing your sudden mess of nerves, you shook your head and turned towards the door. 

It didn’t take you long to find him again. 

When you did, however, your nerves had turned into a bout of playfulness. 

“Baby face, you've got the cutest little baby face,” you sang as you entered the kitchen, your arm catching the side of the wall so you could practically swing into it. A goofy smile lit up your face as you walked behind him, instantly greeted with the smell of meat and vegetables. Ah, gumbo.

“There's not another who can take your place,” you attempted to wrap your arms tightly around his center. “Baby face, my poor heart is thumpin'. You sure have started somethin'!” Your voice was a bit muffled as you pressed your cheek to his spine, beginning to sway to and fro. 

“Baby face, I'm up in heaven when I'm in your fond embrace…” 

Alastor stilled ever so slightly when you had first reached him; now as you pressed sweetly to his back, your smaller frame swaying enticingly, he couldn't stop the smile from spreading across his features like wildfire.

He cast one last look at the pot of gumbo, simmering and wafting the heady scent of warm spice into the air, before figuring it had lasted this long after all – leaving the ladle rather haphazardly on the counter, Alastor turned and smoothly plucked you into his arms. His large hands smoothed over the ridge of your shoulder blades, before running down your sides to land at your hips. He moved then to circle his arms around you tighter, pulling you flush to his frame just as closely as you had his.

The height difference meant he was easily able to tuck you under his chin, his nose automatically moving to seek out the now familiar scent of your shampoo in your hair; he was undeniably prideful as he noticed that the sweet, flowery scent you usually wore was fainter, a hint of his more masculine cologne lingering on your skin, a testament to the intimacies the two of you had been thoroughly wrapped up in.

With a gentle nudge from one of his hands, Alastor soon had the two of you swaying on the spot again. You took a moment to be greedy yourself, and pressed your nose to the spot just above where his heart rested (and, your mind supplied, the scar you had traced earlier) and drank in the dark, masculine scent he carried with him. In light of everything the two of you had shared over the past day, it was startling intimate.

The man hummed low in his throat, unable to keep his jubilation away from the surface. Swaying on the spot quickly became something a little more, his hands coming to rest against the small of your back that naturally encouraged you to move a little more with him. Before long, he was leading you around the small room in an extra slow waltz, your bodies pressed tightly together still as though neither of you were quite willing to invite space in yet.

Alastor's humming shifted; you thought briefly you could feel his lips moving against the crown of your hair before his voice reached your ears.

“Everything went wrong, and the whole day long I'd feel so blue...”

Your stomach gave a pleasurable squirm as his soft, mellow voice became cleared. While he didn't often sing on air for his particular program, his tone was just as smooth and charming as his speech.

“For the longest while, I'd forget to smile,” Alastor leaned back enough to shoot you a wink and his customary grin, hands shifting so he could easily move you through a small, easy spin before gathering you close again. “Now that my blue days have passed, now that I've found you at last...”

The spin that followed this time was slightly more energetic, the movement making his oversized shirt flutter around your form, in spite of it being buttoned. 

You couldn't stop the small giggle that bubbled up inside, your smile growing to match his, your pulse jumping as you watched through hooded eyes as Alastor leaned closer, his intent clear as first his breath and then his lips ghosted over your own. Your eyes fluttered shut, your lips parting in anticipation of meeting his - 

The sound of a throat being cleared just behind you immediately sucked the atmosphere out of the room and your eyes shot open. In a moment of possessiveness, Alastor pulled you flush to him, your lungs wheezing out a puff of air as you collided with him (he was too skinny to offer much cushioning)

"Well now, as lovely a sight as this may be, it isn't even daybreak yet." A soft feminine voice spoke from the dim shadows of the room. 

Soft light flooded the area, and you and Alastor stood blinking in the overhead, while Maggie merely stood, hands on hips and a rather unconvincing mulish look on her face. 

She tsked, her eyes traveling over the pair of you, although the disapproval didn't quite meet her eyes. "Allie, let that poor girl breathe a little! Besides, you don't tend to that gumbo soon and I'll be throwin' you out with the pot." 

With a slight grumble you felt more than heard, Alastor dropped his arms from around you and moved to shut off the stove. Before you, Maggie lightly crossed her arms and quirked her eyebrow in a fashion that was startling similar to her son's. 

Anxiously, you fumbled with the hem of the shirt you had borrowed (stolen). As nice as the woman was, and as much as you thought of her as a possible mother figure to yourself, you still didn’t know her well, and with that look on her face, it didn’t help the case of you thinking you were about to be reprimanded for coloring on the wall as a toddler. Ah, good times. 

A bit lost, you looked between the space Alastor had once been in and his mother, before you brought a hand to the back of your neck. “I’m sorry, did we wake you?” You questioned softly, although to be fair, you were a bit thrown off in surprise at the sudden development. Not that you minded, of course. You enjoyed Maggie’s company more than most people.

And that was saying something.

With your other hand, you made a fist and brought it to your eyes to rub; they had begun to water slightly at the sudden lighting change. And as the stiffness in your body began to fall into more of a relaxed state considering how you had been in flight-or-fight mode for a good minute there, you offered a small, embarrassed, blushy smile for good measure. 

How else were you supposed to react when you were caught nearly kissing her son? 

To her credit, Maggie simply took a moment to watch you, your clear signs of nervousness more than easy to see. Her eyes crinkled in response to your body language finally easing, and it was only then did she step forward with one hand held palm up as though to encourage you to take it. 

“Nonsense, sugar.” Maggie flapped her other hand casually, as though to wave off your concerns. The teasing glint was still present in her dark eyes. “Although I’ll admit it's not all that common to have people so undressed wandering the house.” Here, her gaze jumped to Alastor who immediately jumped as though he had been electrocuted and he hurried to leave the room. 

You wondered briefly if perhaps it was to fetch more concealing clothing, considering you were only dressed in an oversized button up that reached your knees and her own son’s boxers. The man himself had been in a similar state of undress, although some small part of you lamented losing the chance to ogle him more… 

“I threw up.” You stated suddenly, as if trying to defend him to the best of your ability. “It’s… not his fault,” yes it was. He got you pregnant, god damn it. “I basically stole the clothes off of him.” A laugh fell from you, but it was short and anxious. It wasn’t that you were anxious because of Maggie, you were more so winded because of how fast paced everything was that having a simple talk seemed  _ slow.  _

You shifted your weight onto your other leg. 

At your words, motherly concern flashed across Maggie’s pretty features, and she immediately moved to grasp you by the wrist (apparently personal space was lacking in this family on all accounts) and gently tugged you in the direction of the table. Once you both were close enough, she pulled a chair and promptly pushed on your shoulders so you could do little more than plop down into the seat.

“I had such horrible sickness with that boy,” Maggie said quietly, her tone taking on the quality one has when telling some secret, although the grin on her lips betrayed her surprisingly genial nature. 

“I suppose it’s only natural it comes with the territory… let me see what I can whip up for you, honey.” And with a well natured pat on the hand, she too bustled from the room and left you sitting at the table, head spinning slightly from the rapid pace the two of them seemed to live life at. 

Silence was a welcome thing in the hustle and bustle existence of yours, as humorous as it was to think that you previously despised such a thing. Scooting in closer to the table, you thrummed your fingers across the wooden furniture, your right leg bouncing a bit in a manner that you hadn’t ever really experienced before. With the silence came the memories of what had happened only a few hours ago, how there had been taps and bangs on the so-called ‘settling house’. 

You didn’t have anything to go off of, but your uncertainty of it actually being as he said it was, was fueled by the tarot cards and how it had  _ known.  _

Spirits, ghosts, whatever the hell it was, you weren’t entirely sure if you were in a place that was free of them. Paranoia wasn’t a friend of yours, and it surprised you by creeping up on you, tendrils of anxiety traveling up your spine and causing your breath to shorten as you stared into the darkness of the corner of the room, where the light didn’t reach. 

But thankfully, your attention was pulled to misplaced newspapers on the table, and swallowing thickly, you forced yourself to reach out and pull one closer to you. There, it read: 

**MURDERS CONTINUE IN NEW ORLEANS**

The headline was bold and in such a large print that it automatically drew your eye. Below, a sub-line read: 

_ Officials left scratching heads as trail goes cold.  _

Your stomach gave an extremely unpleasant jolt, and for one brief moment you worried you might be sick again as your paranoia only grew. Still, you couldn’t help yourself from grabbing the paper and opening it fully, so you could look over the entire front page properly. 

The article itself was short, the details given simply stating that while the police department was still working hard on solving the seemingly random disappearances that had been occurring over the last year, they had now turned their attention to a bigger matter; namely, a body found and showing signs of struggle. 

Your eyes jumped a few lines, not wishing to read too many details given how sensitive you were suddenly feeling; however, at the very end, a small quote had been printed: 

_ “We have our best detectives on the case, but we’re hoping someone might have witnessed something that can be of help,”  _ Deputy Chief Bradley told our reporter _. “If anyone has seen anything, any suspicious activity or know of someone who might, we urge you to step forward.”  _

You looked at the date of the newspaper then, leaning forward slightly as you rested your cheek on your palm. 

April 16th, 1926.

A week ago. 

Blood. Alastor had been coated in blood a few weeks ago. Three weeks ago, and two days. You had been counting subconsciously from the day you had found out you had conceived, and while it sure as hell wasn’t the first time you had felt at a loss in regards to him, it sure was the first where you were in a moral dilemma. 

There were a lot of bad people in New Orleans, and the chances of it actually being him (you were just jumping to the worst conclusion on literal minimal evidence, thanks to your anxiety) were slim. It had been a deer. A buck, maybe, who had defended itself in a freak show of determination.

It  _ had  _ to have been a deer. 

At night. When it was almost impossible to see. And he had been wounded, when deers fled and hunters gave chase. No… you were just thinking too hard on it. You were exhausted, coming up with ideas that made sense in the moment but wouldn’t when you were sober from a good night’s rest. As you snapped out of it, you noticed how your pulse had risen and with a few deep inhales, you settled yourself. You were just overthinking it, that was all.

A radio host as a murderer, ha! That was laughable. 

You managed to swallow past the sour lump of fear that was sitting at the back of your soft palate, fingers only shaking slightly as you subconsciously moved to rub the goosebumps from the skin of your arms. Just as you were beginning to wonder if you should perhaps just suck it up and go and find Alastor, despite the house still being mostly dark outside of the safety of the lit kitchen, the light in question began to flicker. 

As your eyes travelled upwards, the hairs on the back of your neck stood to attention and with a sudden jolt, for one horrible moment you  _ felt  _ something tickle the back of your left heel. 

You jumped badly enough that your knee jerked upwards, slamming the sensitive joint into the underside of the wooden table. It was an instinctive hiss that followed, and immediately you lowered your leg and began to rub it a bit aggressively with a scrunched up expression. Your eyes flickered down towards your heel, pupils constricting slightly in regards to your sudden pain. There was absolutely nothing.

Hesitantly, you scooted out from the table, far too uncomfortable in being  _ alone  _ (except were you really?) in the kitchen. Standing up, you crossed the kitchen and leaned against the wall of the entrance, narrowing your eyes at the table as if it truly had done something insane and un-table-like.

You weren’t going mad. Absolutely not. 

As though in response to your mental anguish, the light over head began to flicker rapidly again, as though just to mock you. 

Taking a deep breath and deciding firmly that it might be better to brave the hallway after all, you managed a half step back before something firm and warm landed on your shoulder - and you responded in turn by elbowing it as hard as you could. 

The hot wheeze of air that whoosed past your ear at least hinted that whatever had attacked you (or, whatever you had attacked) was living. Stiffening, your eyes widened and, suddenly, your bravado was out of the door. Snapping your head up, you were suddenly met with the familiar darkened skin and silhouette of your lover.“What the  _ fuck _ , Al!” He was going to give you a heart attack one of these days, and you couldn’t even act like you were sorry for elbowing him in the gut.

He deserved it.

The man in question wore a rather puzzled look, one hand massaging the sore spot left just in the middle of his sternum. 

“Hello to you too, darling,” His voice was slightly clipped, as though he was rather stunned - as though you hadn’t been physically violent before.

As though he didn’t secretly enjoy your more vicious tendencies. 

With his eyes slightly narrowed behind his glasses, like you might attack him again, Alastor awkwardly lifted the item of clothing he held in one hand, an eyebrow raised in question. 

Taking a step away just to turn fully around, the hairs on your body began to lower as you calmed down. With a heavy sigh, you brought your hand up and placed it gently on the spot you had hit. “I’m sorry,” you breathed. “You scared me. I didn’t mean to.” You left out the part where you were wholly convinced that the place was inhabited by ghosts. 

Choosing to ignore the clothing for a minute, you began to rub soothing circles into his belly. And then, before you could really fully think about it, you appropriately attached yourself to him, pressing your face into his chest so that you were properly squished against him. “Don’eave me’lone anymore.” You mumbled, your voice muffled by his new attire and how close you were to him.

Above you, Alastor hummed, his arms coming to circle around your waist; he happily indulged your moment of regret, mostly because it included you stroking his ego. 

“Never, sweetheart.” He cooed down to you, your face still pressed tightly to him. He caught himself just beginning to squeeze you a bit  _ too _ tightly, fully immersed in the sudden image of you bound to his side for this life and the next…

Alastor took one last moment to hold you, nose burrowing into your hair before he managed to convince himself to pull back enough that he could lift the simple dress he had found up so you might grab it. It was nothing more than an old house dress his mother no longer wore, but he figured it would fit alright given your size and the fact that as of yet no bump truly existed to extend your shape.

Pulling back, you glanced at the dress, and then back down at your attire. It was true, you weren’t the best dressed or fashionable when it came to the latest taste, but you did pride yourself on the things you did own. Did. That shirt he had ripped up had been one of your favorites, and it fueled your desire to get back at him again. Except, you sort of had when you barfed all over his ‘imported’ shirt. “I like wearing this.” 

Your eyes fell down to the shirt that reached just above your knees. “But I’ll wear this home tomorrow,” you whispered mostly to yourself as you grasped the dress and held it over your right forearm. Rocking on the balls of your feet, you leaned up and grasped his lapel, urging him to bend down so you could meet him eye to eye. “You dress up spiffily, Alastor.”

Easily, you had begun to forget the newspaper.

Pressing your nose to his, a silly smile met your lips. You had always been the expressive type, and now you were just trying to make up for suckerpunching him in the gut. “You know, I would have never known…” You knew you had to make this quick; his mother was awake and it was only a matter of time before she returned. Your grip increased on his collar, and you yanked him closer so your lips brushed tantalizingly close. 

“... How  _ filthy _ you actually are.” 

It was fun to mess with him, and you were a petty creature, so you were pretty sure on what would rile him up. So you stepped back with a wink, just as Maggie entered the kitchen again. “Hi Maggie!” You raised your voice slightly as if to hide your recent sin. “Doesn’t your son look nice? I think he looks nice.” And you also knew how to get him  _ super  _ uncomfortable. Two birds with one stone. 

“What do you think that baby will look like?” 

Still just slightly behind you, Alastor gave an indignant sputter. 

You were holding in your laughter as you moved to look back at him, before reaching back up to ruffle his hair. “I wonder if it’ll have his  _ luscious locks.”  _ Your eyes were crinkled in humor.

In a rather childish, bratty moment, the man moved to (gently) smack your hand away from his head; his slight touch aversion, especially to his facial features, tended to spike when he became too flustered or began to feel as though he was losing control of the situation. 

Across the room, Maggie couldn’t keep her lips from twitching, her white teeth gleaming through her lips no matter how hard she tried to press them together. Honestly, the boy was a menace at times and it was refreshing to see someone else put him in his place. 

“I’ve spent a lot of time and hard work on those locks,” She murmured, moving further into the room; in her hand, you noticed the slight glint off some small, jewel-coloured glass bottle. “Lord help you child if that baby ends up anything like his or her daddy.” 

Alastor made some sound of protest, but given it was Maggie he managed to hold his tongue. 

Your smile grew as your laughter fluttered from you. “I think we’ll be okay together,  _ especially-“  _ You looked back up to Alastor with raised brows. “Didn’t you want to tell your sweet mother what  _ you  _ asked me?” He was going to kill you later, but you were having too much fun in the moment.

Upon a closer look, you noticed with some wild glee Alastor’s right eye had developed a rather telling twitch; he loathed having his secrets branded about, even if it was  _ his _ mother and her own future grandchild - 

He said your name with surprisingly calmness, although the slight edge on the last syllable hinted that you were quickly entering risky territory. 

“Allie?” Maggie had stopped short at the table, placing the vial down. She met your eye and gestured to it as though to hint for you to take it, before turning her sharp eyes back on her son. “Just what  _ did _ you ask this darling girl? Hmm?” 

Despite the teasing and petty nature to your actions, you were still stubbornly defensive over him (love did that to you), and you gave a small nod towards Maggie but remained rooted to the spot just next to him. It was a show of comfort, how you wouldn’t have him face it alone, despite how you were going about it. 

You heard Alastor take a deep breath in through his nose, before his hand (timidly) reached out for yours. Your knuckles bumped each other before his long fingers managed to thread through the spaces of your own. Gently, you gave it a small squeeze in reassurance. 

“Mother-“ Alastor coughed, stopping to clear his throat at Maggie’s look. 

“I asked him to marry me.” You spilled before you could catch yourself, your pettiness a fleeting thing in that moment.

As playful as you were, Maggie so far had done nothing but help you, and she deserved the truth, despite only a few moments ago you tried to get him to say otherwise. “I know you don’t know me, at least not like you should. I also know it’s unheard of for a woman to ask a man, but I… this entire thing is basically unheard of.” 

You glanced up to Alastor then, perhaps for reassurance. 

“But this is the only solution that we figured would be best, especially since I’m not showing yet. Because I asked, I think it’s only natural for me to ask you,” you turned your eyes to the woman then, and pulling Alastor gently with you, you took a step forward. “If I may have your blessing to marry your son.” Your eyes were suddenly rounded and wide, a seriousness in them that went against your previous playful nature. 

Anxiously, you messed with the hem of the shirt. 

There was a small beat, your words hanging in the air for a gut-coiling moment of mind-numbing panic in which every wrong decision you had made so far in life flashed in your mind’s eye. You resolved to kick your own ass later, if Alastor didn’t beat you to it, just as Maggie took a tentative step forward. 

“... Married?” Maggie whispered, her voice soft and light. “You want to marry Alastor?” 

Your breath was a bit short suddenly, and as if there were a thousand eyes on you, you backed down slightly, your grip tightening on Alastor’s for a moment. For a split second, you thought that you had said too much, went a bit too far, but with your foot already in the grave, what more could you do than plummet the next six feet down? But all you could manage was a feeble nod. 

The other woman blinked owlishly (in spite of it all you marveled at just how much Alastor’s features were similar, both their eyes catching you off guard) before rushing forward in a mad dash of energy. You barely had time to jerk back in surprise, momentarily bumping into Alastor’s chest before Maggie had you swept up in her arms in a bone-crushing hug. 

“Oh honey,” She murmured in your ear; you were startled slightly to feel dampness against your cheek and realized she was crying softly. “Of course, oh yes, of course!”

The tension in one big wave fell away, and you let out a heavy breath. “Please don’t cry,” you whispered back finally, your voice cracking slightly. “... You’re going to make me cry.” 

Your words only seemed to spur Maggie on; she wavered slightly and somehow managed to pull you even closer. For one selfish moment, you gave in and  _ leaned _ into her, relishing in the feel of a motherly embrace after so long without your own mother.

Behind you both, Alastor cleared his throat once more. 

“...Didn’t even mention if I agreed or not,” he had the gall to huff. 

With a roll of your eyes, you managed to pull away from Maggie after another moment of comforting silence. The nerve of that man astounded you. “You’re right,” you responded to him, before patting Maggie’s shoulder and turning around. 

“Because I don’t think I asked correctly,” you looked up to him then with a small smile, and you held out your hand for him to grab it. 

For one wild moment, Alastor’s pupils blew out and he eyed you like a nervous forest creature before he seemed to regain some of his usual confidence. He placed his hand, palm down, in your own. 

For a moment, you forgot that Maggie was even behind you, because the next moment you kneeled down on one knee and peered up at him. How ridiculous this must have appeared, a blasphemous act in the eyes of God where the man was supposed to be the one to appease the woman in gifts and rings. 

“I don’t have a ring,” you started. “Not yet anyways, and I know this isn’t the way you or I imagined our lives would lead. I never wanted to be a housewife or have that predictable life - I never even wanted to be a mother. But life has a way of kicking us on our asses,” you laughed softly.

“I don’t have a clue what I’m doing, or what we’re going to do when the baby is here, but I know we can do it because we have the rest of our lives to figure it out.” Your voice began to crack slightly.

“I know we have to conceal the truth, but I don’t want to hide  _ my  _ truth: I am falling for you. And I want to marry you for  _ you.  _ Not for your fame. Not… just for what we created. _ ”  _

With your other hand, you drifted it down to hover over your belly for a second before returning it to help keep you positioned on your knee as properly as you could in a pair of boxers and an oversized button up. 

Taking a deep breath, you hesitated for a moment. “Alastor Beauchamp, will you do me the honor of being mine for the rest of eternity and marrying me?” Despite him already having agreed, you couldn’t help but wait with bated breath. 


	11. He Needs Some MILK

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ⚠️ warning ⚠️ : sexual content, paranormal

_ “... the honor of being mine for the rest of eternity and marrying me?”  _

Something monstrous had been slumbering just under the surface of Alastor's facade for much too long; while he had been momentarily all too entirely wrapped up in all the excitement and complexities of the on-going situation, hearing your emotional plea ( _ pledge _ ) - to be his and his alone, from this life to the next, from now and all eternity – struck a particular nerve and he suddenly felt consumed by the foolhardy impulse to just steal you away, social pleasantries be damned. 

It would be the only way to ensure you remained his and his alone. 

_ No _ , came a small voice in the back of his mind. Vaguely, Alastor was aware of the sensation of long fingers plucking the fabric of the plain button up he had adorned, just as the hairs on the back of his neck and along his forearms stood to attention. His ears filled with disembodied whispers, all urging him to do more-

_ “Ours… ours… ours”  _ the voices –  **the Loa** – whispered, filling his head in a chant that replicated the steady thump of his heart. 

_ Later _ , his mind supplied; Alastor’s eyes darted to find Maggie still standing by the table. Her features were lit up in surprise and elation, and warmth bloomed in his chest. There would be a better time to make sure your soul would be melded to his, for now he would soothe the darker urges by placating them with the touch of your skin against his. 

Alastor rubbed his thumb over the bumps of your knuckles, eyes roving over your smaller frame still postured on one knee before him. Pride swelled in his chest at the amount of drama you had managed to fit into the occasion, although some part of him expected you were being genuine – something that made a feeling eerily similar to regret burst in his chest, the man knowing your affection was  _ misplaced _ at best. 

Still, you were a fine little dish; not to mention the future of his bloodline currently grew in your belly. That alone put you on a pedestal well above the rest of New Orleans. 

There was also the small, albeit rather convoluted, matter that he was growing dangerously attached to  _ you _ , free of all outside factors. Although that was a particularly perilous train of thought to spiral down...

Showmanship on full display, Alastor pulled you to your feet in one smooth tug, just enough force behind the action to ensure you bumped into him. Ever the knight in shining armor, he gave you a wink as he caught you effortlessly in his arms. He squashed his nose too yours, too intent on focusing on you to pay any mind to the fact that his mother was still in the room. 

“ _ Éternité. _ ” He murmured, his breath ghosting across your face. 

Alastor raised the hand you had first reached out to him with and he dropped a soft kiss to the very top. With another tug, one that made your stomach drop as though warning you weren't completely over your bout of sickness at the time, the man had you in a madly dizzying spin, his silky tone crooning your name.

“Yes, of course, little darling!” He crowed, his glee rising like a cresting wave. “Why, who better to have at my side than you!” He tapped the tip of your nose on his last word. 

Alastor bent then and your heart leapt, thinking he would finally kiss you properly, when the two of you were abruptly pulled into a rib-popping tight side-hug; Maggie had squeezed herself between you both and had wrapped an arm around each of your middles. She threw her head back with a charming peal of laughter, Alastor quickly joining in. You couldn't stop the overwhelming burst of giggles from tumbling from your own mouth.

All in all, the moment was rather innocent. It was particularly amusing and heart-clenching to hear his voice caress your name so excitedly. Happiness was a genuine emotion that simply could not be fabricated to the degree that you were experiencing. Leaning your head against Maggie’s in a subconscious movement in your laughter, your eyes crinkled in delight at the observation that every single decision you had made in your life, every fault and win, had led you to this moment. And you would not have changed it for a thing. 

That being said, laughter was a fleeting thing and as the three of you came off of your high of happiness, you were left with a rather silly grin upon your lips. 

Alastor was no longer just a fling, a boyfriend, or one-time-lover-turned-father, he was your  _ fiancé.  _ That was, if your father agreed. That thought was enough to bring you rushing back to reality - a situation that you were not at all thrilled to experience. But social etiquette and proprieties aside, it wasn’t exactly his decision to make. You had chosen Alastor.

Albeit, it wasn’t in the best manner and definitely not how you thought you would have settled, but you had chosen him nonetheless.

“I’m happy to have you as my future mother-in-law, Maggie.” You remained in her hold, just as Alastor was. She was one of the most, if not  _ the  _ most, accepting people you had ever had the pleasure to converse with, and now that she was practically family, you had an easier time with opening up to her. “I’m sorry for throwing this onto you so quickly. You barely know me.” You rubbed the back of your neck anxiously.

“But if it’s not too late because  _ Alastor  _ woke you up,” you looked up to said man then with a wink, before looking back to Maggie. You hesitated. “... Maybe we should talk about a few things? Together?” As a family. 

Maggie flapped her hands in that same silly manner as before, although it did nothing but endear her to you even more (if that were at all possible), “Never too late, sugar. Allie, this poor girl of yours must be starving though. Grab us a couple of bowls and you-” She took you by the elbow to steer you back to the table, same as before. “Just what’s on your mind, honey?” 

Behind you, you were just able to catch Alastor muttering something under his breath, although he seemed much too chastised by his mother to properly grump at her. Some small part of you doubted you would ever tire of watching Maggie put him in his place. 

“Sorry, what was that, Al?” Your eyes were pinched in amusement as you looked behind you towards the man in question. Maggie was your safety net in this moment, and while you were certain Alastor wouldn’t hurt you (purposefully), you weren’t entirely sure how far you could get.

Alastor had simply rolled his eyes and turned his back to the pair of you, bent over the gumbo as though it needed inspecting (it didn’t of course, but he was certainly  _ not _ sulking).

Now that your attention was on him solely. “You’re being a  _ good boy  _ for your mother, right?” You were being an ass, and you knew it, but that shit-eating grin that was on your face was well worth it. Knowing that you were also untouchable now gave you a false sense of security, and one that you were all too willing to hold close to you. 

As he heard your teasing tone and those certain words, ones that not so long ago had been used to praise him, Alastor’s spine stiffened and he slowly straightened his lanky form so he could turn and catch your gaze. His eyes were slightly narrowed and there was a hint of strain behind the smile on his lips. 

Alastor made some odd noise deep in his throat, not quite his usual carefree hum but he prided himself on stopping the growl that had threatened to spill forth. He kept his eyes locked on you as he moved forward, a small bowl in each hand. With a cool, practiced cold shoulder, he breezed past you and placed one in front of Maggie before placing yours down with a raised eyebrow. 

If he was going to be mocked for being a momma’s boy, he might as well live up to the expectations. 

As the wafting scent of spices met your nose, your amusement began to shift into real hunger, especially since all you had eaten recently had been a piece of bread. Your body craved actual nutrients, and it made it  _ exceptionally  _ clear by a rather embarrassing growl that was emitted from your stomach. Sneaking a glance at Maggie then, and offered her a light-hearted smile. “I like teasing him.” 

Sometimes some clarification was needed.

Maggie gave the hand you had placed on the table top a motherly pat, her affection for you even after such a short amount of time evident, “Lord knows the boy deserves.” She cast her son a look you were quickly becoming familiar with, although there was warmth in the depths of her dark eyes. “Nice to see he’s found someone who can keep up with his nonsense…” 

Alastor made a rather offended sound, having turned back to the quaint stove to ladle a bowl for himself. 

“Not sure if I would call it all  _ nonsense _ .” His tone was becoming steadily more sulky, quite unlike you had heard before. “I have varied interests, as any modern gentleman should.” 

The ‘man’ added an affected sniff, as though affronted by the turn of events. While he was used to the gentle teasing from Maggie, he was still adjusting to your on-and-off playfulness. Moreso, your waxing and waning attention on  _ him. _

“You have an old, dusty radio, Allie... and your guns.” Maggie turned her attention back to the bowl in front of her, the steam coming to curl around her head as she moved the spoon to her lips. She turned to face you, her lips twitching with a hidden smile, “Good luck, dear girl.”

You let out a guffaw. “His guns! You know, I’m not sure which you’re referring to, because he doesn’t have-“ You lifted your left arm and flexed, “-Any of those!” You giggled, leaning forward as you brought the spoon to your lips. 

Your eyebrows shot up at the first taste. “Mama, thank you for preparing this. It’s delicious.” As if you had never eaten before, you began to down the gumbo, your body greedily accepting the sudden onslaught of nutrients. “I’m not a big fan of spicy things, but this is good.” You admitted with another mouthful. 

Unaware of how silent Alastor suddenly was as your attention suddenly swept up in the conversation, you turned it towards the bottle. “What is this?” You questioned softly.

“Just a little of this and that.” Maggie paused, taking a moment to dab at her mouth. “Some ginger root to help settle your stomach, a bit of fennel seed and wild yam root too. Oh, and some raspberry leaf from the garden of one of the families I sometimes work for - it should help with those particularly nasty moments, plenty of women around here swear by it.” 

“Say no more.” You reached for the bottle, but just as you were about to grab it, something inside of you pushed you to check on why the hell Alastor was suddenly silent. Slowly, you turned your eyes towards his silhouette, still hunched over the gumbo.

For a moment, you remained quiet, before you cast Maggie an uncertain glance, only to look back over to him. 

“... Al?”

For a brief second it looked as though the man in question had frozen; usually your voice was enough to stir him from whatever unfathomable depths of his own thoughts he was caught up in. However, this time the muscles in his back strained even through the fabric of his shirt and you thought you caught a quick twitch in his left temple. 

Unbeknown to you, the mention of his rifle and other hunting paraphernalia (and the familial ties along with those items) had struck the last remaining nerve Alastor had been keeping in check. It may have been the later hour, although he was used to less sleep than the average person, or perhaps it was the constant overstimulation over the last twenty-four hours; nonetheless, the voices had filled his ears, cooing and encouraging him to just  _ give in _ and release some of that odd tension…

“Alastor.” Maggie’s voice was sharper than you had heard it yet, causing you to even jump slightly, her tone steady yet full of warning. Something about it made goosebumps rise on your flesh. 

It was like watching a block of ice suddenly thaw; Alastor gave a mighty jerk at the sound of his mother’s voice and he shook himself like some animal attempting to dry off. He turned, scooping the bowl into his hand, and moved towards the table as though nothing strange had occurred at all. His eyes, normally so enticing to you, held some deep set emotion you had not seen before and it made your stomach coil instinctively. 

Let a suddenly uncomfortable hum, you tore your gaze away and pointed to the chair next to you. You were a bit confused, to be quite honest; he was often eager to swallow up the playful jests, but something inside you wasn’t overjoyed at his expression. Deciding to settle your attention back to the bottle, you firmly grasped it and brought it to your lips, tipping it back and letting the floral and herb mixture meet your tongue. After a few sips, you set it back down.

Despite your desire to  _ touch him,  _ you decided that it was probably best not to. Surely he knew you had only been joking, right? “Um,” you pursed your lips for a minute, losing your track of thought. “Actually I think it might be best to talk about the things tomorrow morning.” You cast Maggie a glance with a light-hearted smile, before motioning towards Alastor a bit as under the radar as you could. 

“Before I leave, I mean. It won’t take very long, just some things that Alastor already knows. About my dad, Ruth…” You glanced at him with a curious expression, before nodding in affirmation towards yourself. 

Maggie gently reached for the empty bowl sitting in front of you, “Of course, honey. You must be getting awfully tired and that little one won’t make sleep easy once they come…” 

Alastor was still sitting next to you, his lips firmly pressed together in a drawn, strained line. His usual jovial countenance had all but evaporated and it was utterly baffling to witness. Your eyes darted quickly to his own food, noting the bowl was still topped off and steaming slightly and you felt a sudden pang of guilt for perhaps pushing him a bit too far. 

This was all still so new, and with the flood of different hormones in your body, you could feel your own agitation rising. 

It was only when Maggie’s hand landed on your shoulder did you finally draw your attention away from the sulking mess of a man sitting next to you. 

“We can talk more in the morning, once we’ve  _ all _ had some time to rest.” Her eyes traveled to Alastor, motherly concern evident. 

Your eyes softened, and that agitation was quickly dispelled just as it had manifested. “Thanks Maggie,” was all you could utter as you watched the woman toddle out of the kitchen. “Goodnight.” You called after her a bit louder, before turning your attention back to the man you called your  _ fiancé.  _ Good god. 

“Hey.” Your voice was a bit more stern, practically demanding his attention. His lack of a smile was the thing that really caused you to believe your recent ‘hypothesis’. “We were just teasing. I didn’t mean to push you too far.” You were serious then, which was a dramatic difference of your thousand other fucking emotions. They were beginning to exhaust you… and it was only the beginning of nine long months. 

Alastor finally turned his head in your direction, although he kept his eyes decidedly off and away from you. He murmured your name softly but his usual charm and sweetness was gone; instead, he sounded strangely forlorn. You caught his gaze flickering to the food before he moved to push it away. 

You were surprised when he stood and offered you his hand; his face was still rigid, but his palm was up in his usual conjoling manner. With a sudden bout of anxiety, you looked down to his palm and then back up to him. Lifting your hand, you hovered it over his own, your head tilted slightly. 

“You’re… not mad?” When in doubt, give him the puppy eyes and pouting lip. Hesitantly, you laid your hand in his.

A brief look of irritation had crossed his features at your question, but at the first touch of your hand in his, Alastor couldn’t deny that the voices that had been filling his head and drawing him deeper suddenly abated. He clamped down on your hand as though it was a lifeline and he was nothing more than a drowning man lost at sea. 

“No, sweetheart.” Alastor’s voice sounded a little more like the tone you had quickly come to adore, although he still refused to meet your eye. “‘M tired…” he trailed off, fingers still laced tightly to yours. He cast his gaze elsewhere around the room, feeling abruptly like some small child that had been thoroughly reprimanded. 

He had been able to maintain his control up until now; guilt and remorse were not emotions he was all too familiar with and the thought that he had been so close to easing his discomfort by being aggressive towards you had completely derailed the evening.

A small tug on your connected hands hinted that he was hoping you would let the matter rest, at least for now, and simply follow him back to bed. 

Scooting the chair out, you stood up and just as you were about to do just that, you eyed the bowl he had left on the table. With his hand still intertwined in yours, you brought it up and pressed your lips to his knuckles in a long, lingering kiss, before motioning towards the bowl. “Don’t want to waste your mom’s food,” you explained softly without meeting his gaze. 

The bowl itself was hot, and the food was steaming still. “Then we can go to sleep,” you gave his hand a light squeeze. 

It was Alastor’s turn to pout, his bottom lip dropping in an overexaggerated fashion - you briefly wondered if he could do anything by half means - before he slightly turned away from you, hands still connected. 

“Not hungry,” he repeated your earlier words back to you. “It’ll keep, doll.” 

“I don’t care.” You stubbornly rebutted. “Your mom made this, it’s still hot, and I know you’re taller than me, but I will shove this spoon down your throat if you don’t sit down and eat it.”

Your threats were unique, but you could rarely back them up. 

Not surprisingly, it was the tone of your voice and the threat that drew Alastor to finally look at you. His body was still half twisted away from you (he wasn’t quite sure he could trust himself to completely face you yet) but you were able to catch sight of his nostrils flaring, his annoyance perhaps rising again. 

Therefore, you blinked in shock when he turned and, with a huff, dropped to his seat and raised a cool eyebrow in your direction as though  _ daring _ you to follow through. 

You slowly squinted at him. He had the gall to be annoyed because of your first-grade level teasing? The man had a backbone of a literal chocolate eclair. You took a step forward, as if to show that you weren’t even  _ close  _ to backing down. “I learned that trick with the jaw and the fingers earlier. I can do it with you too.” You looked down to the gumbo then. “Choice is yours.” 

For the first time in sometime, the corners of his mouth miraculously twitched; Alastor crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back more in his chair. His long legs moved so that they encircled you, his heels coming to rest on the chair just behind you. 

Your eyes widened slightly, but when you tried to move, his legs only tightened around you. “This is cruel. I’m just trying to be a good ‘housewife’,” oh that term disgusted you, “-and you’re here refusing a home-cooked meal. You know, you really make my heart hurt.” You pressed your hand to your chest, a sniffle coming to add to the display, before you grinned at him. 

“You know, it’s too bad I haven’t forgot…” You leaned sideways a bit awkwardly then, right against his lower recently injured leg. “I can play.” You inspected your nails boredly. “Your turn.” 

There was a beat of silence between the two of you before you watched in a burst of relief as Alastor’s face lit up with his usual maddening grin. He murmured something in French; you thought back on your primary school days and wished you had paid a little more attention to some of your teachers -

His left heel came to press into the small of your back, just gently enough to edge you forward so that you had nowhere to go but his lap; he managed to catch you enough so that he could settle you on his uninjured leg. One hand moved then to nudge the bowl in your direction, the spoon clinking against the edge of the bowl lightly. 

“Let’s play, sweetheart.” Alastor winked and in spite of the turn of the evening, a small thrill was climbing up his spine. He couldn’t stalk the streets to work out his remaining aggression, but as always you were easily able to draw his attention away. 

With a small huff (because let’s face it, you were a lot more tired than he was), you rolled your eyes and turned to face the bowl. “Come on, Al.” You mumbled, before leaning over and grabbing the spoon, before crawling onto his lap. The chair creaked slightly, but such chairs were sturdy, thankfully. Straddling his legs, you pushed the gumbo to his lips. 

With narrowed eyes behind his glasses, Alastor simply moved his head back and away from you, using his long body to his advantage. 

“No.” 

“Alastor,  _ please.”  _ You leaned after him.

One finger came to land directly in the middle of your forehead and you blinked as he gave just enough pressure to the spot so to lean your body back. 

“As pretty as your pleading is, darling…  _ No _ .” 

You frowned, your eyes narrowing into mere slits. “Fine.” You leaned back slightly, simply sitting on his legs; beginning to lead him into a false sense of security as you lowered the spoon, awaiting that grin- yep. That was the one.

It grew into the all too familiar shit-eating one he saved for his most cocky moments, and he even had the nerve to lean forward into your space as though he had not just been a complete pain.

“Well now,” he simpered, tone sugary sweet and over inflicted sounding. “You can be taught…” 

Before he could continue to caress your ears with his beautifully wrapped bitch-in-a-box type voice, you had your hand trail down between your thighs and press into the space of his own with pressure. At the sudden gasp, perhaps caught off guard, you took the split second to push the spoon into his mouth before letting it go. “I win.” You grinned. 

“I don’t think I need to be taught. Because,” with the spoon still in his mouth, you dipped your head under it to press a kiss to his jaw.

“I already fooled you.” 

With nothing more to be done, Alastor was forced to simply swallow the mouthful you had shoved past his teeth. His Adam’s apple bobbed, your eyes flickering to it, your own ego swelling in a manner not too dissimilar from his own. 

His nostrils flared once more, but he couldn’t deny your appeal outweighed any remaining irritation that had been lingering beneath his calm exterior. 

“Hmmm…” He trailed off, one hand coming to trace along the curve of your side, stopping when he met the fleshy part of your hip. He gave you a gentle pinch - light enough not to sting but enough that he was able to satisfy his petty need for some kind of retribution. “You’re a fine opponent, darling.”

With sudden speed only Alastor ever seemed capable of, his thighs disappeared from under you and for a brief, startling moment, you thought he meant to actually drop you. 

Your shriek died in your throat as you felt the familiar brace of his arms coming to catch you around the waist, before you found yourself hoisted up along with him as he made to stand and leave the kitchen. 

“Although, I can think of a better playing field,” his breath tickled the shell of your ear as he moved to press his cheek to yours, and while you couldn’t stop yourself from nuzzling into him, your arms coming to wrap around his shoulders and rest just behind his neck, your fingertips gently toying with the thinner hairs there…

“... I don’t think I can take you again,” you whispered in genuinity. As much as you wanted to, over and over again, your body had its limits and you needed to listen to them. 

Your eyes closed briefly as you sighed his name into his own ear, your legs coming to wrap a bit tighter around his waist. 

He hummed his agreement, arms instinctively tightening around you in response. 

“Fair enough, sweetheart, you are a petite little creature,” his smirk was back - of course. “As much as I detest uttering these words, perhaps we ought to take Mags advice and let you get some rest.” 

“Maybe.” You replied, but your actions already showed your decision, perhaps a bit fueled by your guilt of being unintentionally insensitive. 

“Maybe not.” You breathed, tilting your head then to press your lips to his jugular, gentle and sweet. While you weren’t entirely sure if you'd be able to take yet  _ another  _ orgasm without passing out from exhaustion because good god, it was an exhausting process, you still wanted him to feel good. 

And then, just like a lightbulb that went off in your mind, your lips grew into a smile.  _ You had an idea,  _ and if it worked, you wouldn’t have to move a muscle. All you would have to do… was enjoy the show. 

Ever the hedonist, Alastor had taken the time to nuzzle his nose into the sweet-smelling spot just behind your ear as you spoke; despite what your body language was telling him, the man couldn’t help but wonder at what point your smaller form might no longer be able to keep up with his particular brand of desires, and so he took to indulging as much as he could in the feel of you against him. 

Alastor murmured your name, just as sweetly as he had before, his tone honeyd and thicker as his accent came to the front. One hand shifted, making your legs wrap just a little tighter (if that was possible) around him as he took the time to grip you just under your bum - you were tantalizingly  _ soft _ and he was able to subdue his urges simply by fondling you. 

“Perhaps the bed can offer some inspiration?” Alastor winked at you, his grin so wide it made the corners of his dark, alluring eyes crinkle in  _ just _ that certain way that made him much too charming. And he knew it, the bastard. 

While you could hide your blush, swathed in shadow and otherwise darkness, you couldn’t hide the smile that crept up on your lips; and even if you could, the sensation of your cheeks stretching was all that was needed to betray your current state of amusement. “I am inspired,” you cooed, before leaning back just enough to meet his gaze. You brought one of your arms back over from his shoulder and pressed your hand affectionately to his right cheek. 

“Give me a show, radio man.” Your eyes were slowly becoming crinkled in your own mirth. Your other arm, now that you were secure against him, fell to tease his collar.

Alastor’s eyes narrowed more, although this time his forehead creased slightly; while he had a suspicion as to what you were truly asking for, his expectations around the physicality of your relationship was still so new he felt slightly unsure. 

“Darling…” he trailed off, deciding in the moment that  _ action _ might help him think of something brilliant; hoisting you up just enough to ensure you wouldn’t fall, Alastor began walking down the hallway and back towards his room. 

“That’s not  _ quite _ how radio works, but I am a man of performance.” He quipped, smirking at you from your position still latched to his front. 

His words went in one ear and out the other, simply a background ambience as you focused your attention on your hands, which had begun to roam across his chest with the bit of space you had managed from his secure hold on you. Subconsciously, your tongue swiped your bottom lip as you focused on slowly unbuttoning his shirt, your pupils beginning to dilate further as the light of a passing lamp that had yet to be turned off caught his darkened flesh. He was gorgeous.

And that very common observation made your thighs clench a bit tighter around him. You weren’t entirely sure why, but seeing him disheveled only made him that much more attractive to you, and so, as if he were your very own treat, you brought your lips to drag down his neck and shoulder as it became revealed. 

The slowness of the action made arousal simmer deep in your gut, and you did nothing more than bring your head away after a moment to instead press your lips to his nose. 

“Why do you always have something to say…” A roll of your eyes, although it was manifested out of playfulness.

In the time between the next beat and the last, you let your expression contort into a very  _ telling  _ look. Positioning your nose to the side of his then, almost uncanny in how perfect it was, you brushed your lips against his. With a teasing puff of air, your breath washed over his lower face just as your hands began to peel the shirt off of his shoulders until you could go no further. 

“... When you could finally do what you’ve been wanting to do all night?”  _ And kiss me.  _

There was a beat in which Alastor’s gaze flicked to meet yours, even in the passing gloom of the hallway, as though to make sure he understood fully just what you were implying. He quickly took in the upturned curve of your lips and the telling glint in your eyes, before his own mouth curled to mimic yours. 

“If it’s affection you’re looking for, doll,” he gently nudged his door open with one knee, long legs making it easy enough to still hold you securely. “You need only ask.”

And in that moment, he all too happily indulged you, his mouth surging against yours in a rush to finally sate his growing desire to have you to himself. He was so caught up in the physical side of the desire that his teeth clacked against yours in his haste; you gave a small grunt to which he only tightened his grip, his tongue darting to swipe along your bottom lip. 

Your hands instinctively navigated upwards, and as you leaned into him more, your one arm came to rest over his shoulder and played with the hem of the shirt that was falling off of him, while the other took the time to tangle into the thinner hairs at the back of his head. A particularly harsh breath escaped you as your nose was crushed against the narrow space between his cheek and nose, your lips capturing his own with just as much emotion and desire he revealed.

He very quickly had the ability to have you breathless, and while the two of you had shared in intimacies of sexual nature, you had never kissed him for more than a minute or so; and to say the least, you were growing excited. 

When you pressed even  _ closer,  _ your chest against his half-exposed one, chest heaving with the desire to gain precious oxygen, you bumped into the metal of his glasses. Easing up on your kisses slightly, you leaned back just enough to get enough space between the two of you to properly speak to the best of your ability.

“Do you have another pair?” You panted, your eyes meeting his through the glass before you motioned with your gaze to the glasses.

Alastor blinked at you, his mouth opening a few times, wordlessly, thoroughly thrown by your sudden change in attention. 

“Somewhere, s’pose…” he murmured, already leaning forward to brush his lips across yours, deciding your fleeting attention span wouldn’t stop him from chasing the feel of you against him again. 

“Thank God,” you breathed breathlessly against him, before you reached up and easily took the glasses off. In the next moment, you put both of your hands on each lense and snapped them in half before throwing them someplace. 

You didn’t really care. 

“They’re annoying when I’m tryna kiss you…” You explained briefly. Sure, you could have put them somewhere safely, but that was a lot more boring. 

Alastor cried your name, softly, although he didn’t sound terribly upset; rather, his voice had a slight lilt to it, as though he was secretly  _ thrilled _ at your playfulness. You were one of the few people he had come across who could truly keep him on his toes, and it made him relish the turn of events all that much more. 

“I’d hate to keep you waiting any longer, darling.” Alastor’s lips quickly slotted to yours again; he travelled backwards, your form still tucked in his embrace, until his knees bumped into the edge of his bed and he was able to sit, easing you into a position so you were able to stay wrapped around his trim waist. 

Your knees came to rest at the sides of his waist, holding you in a straddling position over him. You sighed softly against his lips as your hands came to roam down to the rest of the buttons that kept his shirt together and clumsily began to try to unbutton it blindly. He was so fucking  _ warm  _ that your body naturally gravitated towards his, your own button up thin and your unclothed legs (your only cover being the boxers still) engulfing in chills as a particular breeze that originated from the window wafted through the room. 

Your mouth opened slightly to dart your tongue out to press against his slightly chapped lips, before you finally were able to rid him of the shirt by slowly sliding it off of his arms. Your arms soon took their residence to hang around his neck again after a moment, your shirt slightly riding up from the constant movement so that, coincidentally, your belly rubbed against his own abdomen. In your half-functioning mind, the only thing that went through of it was the  _ warmth.  _

Alastor was only vaguely aware that you had successfully removed the shirt from the majority of his form; he was too hyper-focused on chasing the teasing touch of your tongue against his, the way your dainty lips moved to accept his rougher movements, and the feel of your smooth skin against his own where your own clothing had allowed contact. One hand drifted from where it was resting on your hip to trace the still flat plane of your lower belly, as though he was subconsciously affirming it wasn’t all just some fever dream. 

His hand continued on its path, trailing further up your body, selfishly skin on skin and under the thin material of the shirt you were still wearing. Alastor could feel the goosebumps rise in response, his nails catching certain sensitive spots once in a while; just enough that he could manipulate your form to shudder rather deliciously. 

The one hand paused just before reaching the underside of one breast; Alastor’s other hand, still on your side, gave you a gentle squeeze as though asking for your consent without the need to break away from your kiss to verbalize his want. 

However, you were the one to break the contact, watching with a bit of amusement in your flustered expression as he subconsciously navigated after you. “Al,” you murmured gently, before leaning back enough to squash your nose against his. “I need to make sure before I do something,” you pressed your lips to his in a chaste kiss before moving to take a much needed breath. 

“... Do you trust me?” 

The man in question stared at you for a moment, his tongue peeking between his front teeth in his usual sign of uncertainty; it wasn’t that he didn’t trust you, it was simply how quickly you seemed to be moving to take control of the situation. He was still adjusting to having to share control with another. 

“Endlessly,” he murmured, the tip of his nose running the length of your own. The action had firmly come to exist in his brain as something special between the two of you. “Do as you wish, sweetheart.” 

Your heart hurt with how much it was being squeezed. Trust was not something that was easily earned, and it made you distraught to think of parting from him physically even for a few minutes. Leaning in, you pressed your forehead to his and closed your eyes for a second to fall into rhythm with your and his short puffs of breath that were shared. 

“Thank you…” Your words were nothing more than a whisper, before you moved to get off of him. When you managed to, you gave a big ol’ stretch and even went so far as to crack your knuckles because good god was this going to be  _ fun.  _ “So before I ransack your room,” you turned around to face him, disheveled and blushing as all hell, 

“Where are your ties and oil,  _ fiancé?”  _

Alastor gave you a close look, leaning back on his elbows on the top of the quilt. It was undeniably an alluring sight, and you felt your core flutter despite how sore you still were. Oh well, you would get your pleasure in a different fashion. He finally pointed to the third drawer of his simple wardrobe. 

“My ties are in there,” his eyes traveled over your form, a curious suspicion settling in his eyes. There was another beat of silence, before he finally shifted off the bed and moved across the room. 

“Ah- I didn’t say you could move.” You huffed.

Alastor paused just in front of his closet, where you suspected he kept his heavier clothing and coats. He tried his best to send you a look that bordered on puppy-dog eyes but his grin was much too sardonic for you to take him seriously. 

“I have some oil on the top shelf, I use it when cleaning my hunting gear.” 

There was a pause. “... You’re joking, right?” 

Alastor blinked; even without his glasses on, it was still an oddly endearing sight. 

“There’s a tin of Crisco in the kitchen,” He sighed, as though you were being the absurd one. 

You couldn’t help the slight roll of your eyes; how could such a brilliant man be such a dunce? 

“No, Al…” You moved to stand in front of him. “I mean, like,” you waved your hand around as though trying to think of something he might have on hand that would help you with your plan. “Any hand cream? Lotion? It doesn’t even have to smell pretty.” You tried to sell it with a wink, although by the odd look on his face, you wondered briefly if you had lost him over this scheme. 

“You know… like,” you felt the blush coat your cheeks again. “Al, I’m going to stroke your dick.” You sighed in a defeated manner, even going so far as to face-palm and slide it down your face. “So I don’t think cooking oil or gun oil is going to work. I need something else. You know what—“ 

Before he could respond, you held up a finger, turned around, and walked towards the door before opening it and walking out into the dark hallway. You paused after a moment, and then ran back in. “Just- Grab a tie or something, and uh. Tie it around your eyes?” You made a weird expression as if you were trying to describe how he had done it to you. “And then lay on the bed. I’ll be right back.” 

And then you were off, heading into the dimly lit hallway and making your way towards the bathroom. 

You disappeared down the hallway so quickly, your excitement causing you to rush, so you missed the strange keening sound that rumbled up from Alastor’s chest. He eyed the door warily, as though it had offended him. 

His hand nervously darted to his hair and he moved to push it back; the thought of cutting off the use of one of his senses made him anxious. With a sigh, Alastor moved to the wardrobe again, hands moved to slide out the third drawer - you had admittedly stoked his interest, of course, given the physical aspect of what you had planned - and he picked a simple black tie. 

The man closed the drawer once more, but hesitated. Rather than moving to go back to the bed like you had asked him to, Alastor moved to open the top drawer. There, glinting in the low light, laid the small, neatly organized row of various knives. He traced a fingertip along them; the cold metal familiar and offering a small amount of comfort in light of his growing unease. 

The curtain over the window fluttered roughly, the breeze picking up more. The lamp flickered, the oil sputtering slightly before it grew to glow brighter. Out of the corner of his eye, Alastor was just able to make out a large, pitch-dark form moving. 

_ ‘Not ready…’ _

The breeze shifted again, this time ruffling his hair as though some personal touch. His nostril flared, “No, I suppose you’re right.” 

Alastor turned fully then, facing the form across the room. Two bottomless eyes stared out of the endless blackness of the  _ creature _ , it’s large maw gaping and features warping in some mockery of his own likeness. 

“It’s not quite the right time.” 

From its sentry position, the shadow seemed to swell and then coil in on itself, its form never truly solidifying. The lamp light shuddered again. 

‘ _ Ours… _ ’ The creature’s voice was hollow, seeming to echo both within the room itself and within Alastor’s head.

‘ _ She’s ours… Ours… Always… Always… Soon…’ _

“Soon,” Alastor repeated, voice low. He sighed again, turning to close the top drawer, just as he felt the shadow dissipate; the atmosphere in the room lightening. Literally as well as figuratively, because the next moment, you entered the room with a lit candle and a bottle of lotion.

“Found it,” you said with a bit more gusto and energy than before. “It was in the bathroom, but I also stole the candle—“ You cut yourself off at the sight of Alastor looking towards a wall, but when you looked to it, all you saw was his own shadow. A normal shadow. “Uh…”

Entering the room, you set the candle down briefly on the side table and closed the door with your heel. You paused in your movements and slowly put the lotion down next to the table, observing the rather odd expression on his face with a confused face. 

“Hey…” you whispered, looking down to the tie in his grip. Coming to stand in front of him then, you took his hands in your own. “If you don’t want to use the tie, we don’t have to.”

Because that was the only sort of problem your mind could observe. “Despite me taking control for the night,” you stood on your tippy toes to gently press your lips to his. “We don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with, m’love.” 

His mouth tried again to follow yours when you pulled away, hinting at just how smitten he was becoming with you. 

“‘Applesauce’ works for you too.” You quickly interjected.

Alastor’s smile grew, his eyes crinkled in his amusement. “Nonsense, darling,” he moved forward then, brushing past you with a sly wink. “I may not have been a boy scout, but I’m dandy with knots.” 

With one last cheeky look in your direction, Alastor placed the tie over his eyes and swiftly tied a knot at the back of his head. With a dramatic sigh, he promptly pitched backwards over the bed, his weight causing him to bounce slightly before he settled. 

“Do as you wish, little minx.” He couldn’t keep the slight laughter from his tone; the absurdity of the situation catching up to him. 

The sight alone was enough to cause your belly to burst with butterflies, and with that came the desire to say the first thing on your mind: “With how many times you say ‘wish’, I would think you a genie.” You mumbled under your breath, before you turned your attention to the lotion and candle, before coming to grab the lotion and lay it on the bed just next to him.

Next, you took the candle and, blowing it out, you came to kneel on the bed and carefully clamber over him so you could rest just to the side of him. With your one hand, you reached to the one that was closest to him and gently intertwined your fingers in the spaces of his; and then, without any warning, you tipped the candle slightly and watched as the hot wax dripped on his chest. 

The hiss that escaped Alastor’s lips was more from surprise than actual pain; although the wax did sting just enough to get his attention, having his eyes covered only added to the sensation, his other senses now heightened. 

He murmured your name, the sound slightly questioning and he went to shift on the bed, the hand that was holding yours squeezing as though to seek reassurance. 

You stopped briefly. “If you don’t like it, tell me. You have to be vocal,” you said lightly enough. “I can’t read your mind, Al.” 

The pad of his thumb managed to swipe along your knuckles, “Go on,” his voice was still low, this time husky and darker in tone. 

With the reassurance, you relaxed and squeezed his own hand in response.  _ He trusted you.  _ Without a word, you continued, watching as the liquified wax dripped down his abdomen. 

He would be a mess later, no doubt. When you were satisfied with the outcome of cooling wax and the red marks around the spaces of them, you twisted slightly and placed the candle on the bedside table. Then, turning back around, you sat up slightly to straddle his hips, your upper body leaning forward and then down to hover your lips over his ear. 

“What a good boy…” you praised, your arousal fluttering through your body as you breathed hotly against his cheek as you slowly sat back for a moment to admire your masterpiece (as if he hadn’t been one to begin with).

You gently rolled your hips against his to finally give him some sense of friction, even if he was still clothed.

Alastor made a soft sound, his breath stuttering in his lungs when he felt you finally move against him. He was firm and  _ hot _ , his body reacting to you from the very onset of your little experiment. He tried to lift his hips to chase more of that feeling, too focused on his task to remember you had already told him off for forgetting your rules before. 

So you pinched him. 

The grunt he gave was decidedly one of pain more than any other action you had done against him. 

“Sweetheart.” His voice was clipped, his arousal may have changed the overall tone of his words to something much more darker than you were used to hearing, but his infliction remained the same.

“I’m going to gag you next if you don’t stay quiet,” you huffed. “Don’t want to wake mommy again, right?” 

His tongue peeked out between his teeth once more - you thought briefly of catching it between your teeth just to really sell your point - but he remained miraculously silent, adam’s apple bobbing.

You rolled your hips again with an approving hum. “I knew you could be a good boy for me. Only speaking when I  _ tell  _ you to.” There was something ridiculously  _ hot  _ about it all, to see such a man come undone underneath you - you were a whole lot more powerful than you thought yourself to be, then again, you supposed every woman was when it came to men.

Gingerly, you scooted down until you were on his knees, but upon promptly remembering his healing injury, you decided to simply return to your previous position of his side. That being said, you were forced in that moment to unravel your hand from his. For a moment you simply watched how his breath was ragged, even after such a small amount of attention. It amazed you, to say the least. 

“How much do you want me to touch you?” You purred, darting your eyes over his straining pants. You knew he wanted you to, but there was something about him begging that  _ really  _ riled you up.

You watched as Alastor’s adam’s apple bobbed again, this time a little harsher than you had seen. His teeth caught his bottom lip slightly, before he murmured a soft, “please” to the night air. 

Dramatically, although you knew he couldn’t see you, you put your hand to cup your ear and leaned in. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

The puff of air he huffed dramatically washed over your face, his lips twitching slightly in response to your teasing. 

“Please, sweetheat,” his voice was just audible above the breeze that had shifted yet again. 

You moved your hand to palm him gently through his clothing. “Please what?” You even had the audacity to sound rather proud of yourself, afterall, you had done the impossible. You had reigned Alastor in and made him bend to  _ your  _ will. 

Alastor groaned slightly at the first touch of your hand on his length; it throbbed under its confinement, the muscles in his lower belly fluttering. 

“Please touch me, darling,  _ please _ .” The last word was more a whine than anything; behind the tie, his eyes were tightly shut as though to block out some of your torcherous ways. 

“Well, since you asked so nicely…” you grinned to yourself, a small giggle escaping you as you reached over and unzippered his slacks. “Lift your hips for me?”

Alastor moved with such speed to lift his lower half that you were almost upended; he managed to correct himself so you didn’t topple completely but there was no taking back the moment of overzealousness. He reached out with one hand to steady you, gripping your hip - once your balance returned, he managed to sneak in a small squeeze, relishing in the feel of your skin under his fingertips as he always did. 

“ _ Beautiful, _ ” he murmured, so quietly you almost missed it. 

It caused you to pause for a millisecond, before a gentle and genuine smile appeared on your lips. 

For the first time, you were rather glad he wasn’t able to see that you had in fact heard him, because if you were certain of anything, it was that he was  _ opening up;  _ albeit incredibly, ridiculously slowly, but it was a process. With a soft sigh, you hooked your fingers and pulled his slacks down, watching with amusement as he kicked them off with a vigor that only Alastor could possess. 

Leaning up then, you pressed your nose to his, before pressing a kiss to the tip of it. It was a moment of tenderness, to show that your affection did not normally consist of such roughness or shows of control (in fact, it was quite rare that he allowed you at all). “Do you want to watch?” You whispered against his lips. 

The man moved to quickly press a kiss to your mouth before you could react and pull away. It was chaste, but still held a sense of his urgency. 

“Yes.” His voice was practically a hiss. 

Letting go of some of your control, half because the ‘trust’ part of it all had been the candle, and half because you were fucking exhausted and did  _ not  _ have the stamina this man had when it came to performances, you pushed the tie up and off of his head. “You did so well for me,” you breathed against him, pressing your lips to his with a bit of your own urgency, before you nuzzled your cheek against his as you leaned away to focus on his boxers which, admittedly, were very strained. 

They were easy to take off, and the sight nearly made you delirious with how many shocks of pleasure ran up your spine. The tip was flushed a deep red, the veins prominent and the base trembling from the arousal he faced. “You’ve only ever felt my hand, my mouth, or  _ me,  _ but-“ Twisting around, you grabbed the bottle of lotion and, pumping it two times in your palm, you gently put it down and navigated your hand grasp his length. “I wonder how this will feel.” 

_ So warm.  _

The sound was slightly lewd when you stroked him once, enough so that you paused for a moment. “Look at how you react to me,” you breathed, your thumb coming to coat some of the cream on his tip. A heavy blush coated your cheeks before you looked up at him just as your other hand came up to tap your pointer finger at his bottom lip. “I wanna hear your pretty sounds now, please.” 

The breath Alastor wasn't even aware he had been holding whooshed past his lips then, fanning warmly across your face. The same strange keening sound as before started low in his chest, but he caught himself just in time to cut it short. 

Your hand clenched lightly around his length, as though subconsciously trying to draw out more from him. Alastor's tongue darted to wet his bottom lip, his pupils blown wide at the sight you presented, tucked neatly to his side and hand grasping him in the most intimate of places – while it undeniable the two of you were slowly becoming more comfortable exploring more carnal activities together, most of what you did to him still caused the poor boy's brain to malfunction. 

The lotion caused your hand to glide against his firmness smoothly, the slick sound reaching his ears even over the physical stimulation and only adding to the rising feeling of bashfulness in his chest; Alastor had to close his eyes, almost as if to shield himself against what you were attempting. 

He cooed your name, breath stuttering and his thin chest heaving.

“Please,” Alastor breathed, voice quieter than perhaps you had ever heard it. “Touch me more, sweetheart. You feel good no matter what…”

He was a master at charm, a sweet-talker, and it absolutely worked wonders on your body. Your own breath had turned shallow at the sight of it all, and while you weren’t physically affected by the stimulation, his reactions made you warm and fuzzy-feeling; a soft blush beginning to coat your cherub cheeks as your hand offered him another stroke.

His appearance made your heart clench in your chest, a soft giggle escaping your lips at the sight of  _ Alastor,  _ the infamous radio host of New Orleans, blushing and panting all because of you. Your next stroke was slow, the pressure you applied focused more around the tip than anywhere else before you gently pulled it away and instead ran your hand up his stomach, coming to rest just over him so your nose squished against his for the umpteenth time that day. 

“Ah-ah…” You tutted softly. “You told me you wanted to watch, baby.” You leaned back before you would undoubtedly reward him with a kiss, because your self control was only so much. Sitting back down in your original spot, the area still warm from preserved body heat, you allowed your hand to rest upon his cock again, delighting in the feeling of it jumping slightly against your attention. 

“You wouldn’t lie to me, would you?” Your eyebrows creased as you shot him your best puppy-dog face; although, it still needed some work. That pouting appearance though… 

Alastor had forced his eyes open at your words, your secondary touch only stirring him further. The muscles in his lower belly quivered, the lean musculature of his frame strained. 

Your full bottom lip pouting made him want to lunge forward and catch it between his own teeth, to nibble until you were nothing less than willing to open up for him. After all, control and acts thereof were strong aphrodisiacs to the man. 

Alastor huffed another breath, this time his shoulders moving dramatically in time with his inhale. If you could be a card, so could he… 

“Cross my heart and hope to die,” he crossed a finger over the left side of his chest, although the wink he gave you didn’t exactly sell the same story. “I’d never  _ dream _ of lying to you, doll.” He stuck out his bottom lip in mockery of your own. 

You narrowed your eyes, although while you shallowly stroked him (obviously not giving him enough to actually reach that edge just to spite him), you couldn’t deny the fact that the sight alone made your thighs clench to appease that heat that was originating between them. Although you knew that you needed time to heal, and while you were very much exhausted, you felt  _ desire.  _

So you eased your hand off of him and, leaning forward, you moved to your previous position, your hand bracing against his chest in order to better keep you balanced. “Can I ask you to do something?” You murmured softly, brushing your lips against his. Despite the sexual nature of the two of your actions, there was a true tenderness at the base of it - you had fallen for him.

Hard. 

Alastor leaned forward, chasing your mouth once again. Loathe as he may have been once to admit it, your kisses had become something of an addictive drug - 

“Name it, darling.” He sighed against your lips; he was sly enough to tilt his head just so his nose could slot against the side of yours, the position more than enough of a hint as to what he was truly looking for. 

You pressed your lips to his slightly chapped ones gently, briefly, even going so far as to mumble against them because you didn’t wish to part from him either; “Eat me out.” 

Below you, Alastor sputtered, his face drawing back from yours. His eyes were wide, surprise evident in the lines in his features. 

“Beg your pardon?” He blinked, mouth twisting slightly downwards in his confusion. 

While some part of him wondered if this was one of your many euphemisms, his more questionable inclinations were arguably  _ thrilled _ at what sort of scheme you might be dreaming up. 

You pressed forward again, this time the one seeking his physical affection through his kisses. “You’ve already done it before,” you rolled your eyes slightly as you pressed your lips to his again, and again. You were heated, and now that you were giving attention to it, you  _ longed  _ to have it relieved, and he had been and would always be the only one to get you off. 

Even your hand wasn’t enough to challenge him. 

“Tell me,” you whispered, your one hand leaving to grab one of his to lead it to the hem of the boxers, before letting his hand dip under and trail along your folds, your eyes closing briefly as a wave of chills ran across your skin, as you made sure he collected some of the slick that had begun to accumulate there. 

When you knew there was enough, or assumed to be, because let’s face it you were thoroughly turned on, you led his hand back up to his face, to which you brought a glistening finger to his lips, briefly touching your own with how little space there was between you. “Do you like how I taste?” 

Whether it was because he was slightly on edge or because of your actions, Alastor’s tongue darted out to swipe against the pads of the fingers you had pressed to his mouth. There, he faintly tasted an earthy bitterness, but nonetheless he wanted  _ more _ . Although you were right in that he had tasted you before, there was something about the intensity of your actions that were quickly calling his darker needs to the surface. 

Alastor popped one of his fingers into his mouth, winking at you once again, “You’re a true  _ dish _ ,” he cooed to you before taking the digit from his mouth and moving to rub it along the length of your bottom lip so that some of your own taste and his lingered there.

Alastor moved then with his usual startling spark of energy; he had you rolled and prone on your back before you could do more than blink up at him, a small squeal erupting from you in spite of your best efforts to keep stoic. 

He shifted downwards, dark eyes trained on your own gaze, arms moving to hook your knees over his forearms. Despite how wanton you had just been, there was something about the sight of him, rumpled and clearly affected by the situation, between your thighs that made a current of desire rush up your spine to settle at the base of your skull. 

Alastor broke eye contact with you just long enough to trail his gaze over your still covered flesh. Hooking his long fingers under the elastic of the boxers you still wore, he eased them down until they were too snug to move past the curve of your hips against the top of the bed. 

He pressed a kiss to the inside of one thigh, taking a moment to delight in the feel of your soft, delicate skin under his lips. From here, he could smell your arousal, tangy and earthy, just faintly enough to make his mouth water with the thought of what he could do. 

“Be a good girl and lift your hips, darling.” 

Goosebumps littered your skin as you did so, watching with naive curiosity (despite him having done this before) as he continued to pull them down. “‘M your good girl,” you whispered half to yourself and half to him, as if saying such a thing would keep you in the sense of reality you had found yourself in. 

There was something about such carnal interactions that made your chest tighten with emotion, and while you had only moments ago been completely in control over what was going on, you offered him vulnerability,  _ trust  _ in this moment, just as he did for you. It was something that you would have to refrain from saying when the child grew and asked the age old question of ‘where did I come from?’. 

Because oh man, you were  _ not  _ prepared for that one. You’d probably let Alastor answer that because, while you prided yourself on being a good person, it was absolutely hysterical to see him become flustered. But that was the future, for now, all you had to worry about was… nothing. Absolutely nothing. You were safe with him, and you didn’t regret any second you spent with him.  _ Eternité _ , he had uttered earlier.

_ For eternity,  _ you thought.

Alastor took a moment to let the weight of your words – sighed so softly but still audible to his ears – settle over him. He looked up from his position still cradled between your legs, one cheek smooshed to your inner thigh, his breath tickling your flesh in a way that made your core flutter, to take in the sight of your flushed skin - your blush covering not only your cheeks but having spread to cover most of your chest - heaving against the curve of your rib cage. 

Although these experiences were all still exceptionally new to him, Alastor was able to clearly see how infatuated with him you were; it did nothing other than stoke the possessive fire of want deep inside himself. 

Alastor ran a hand up the leg he wasn't resting against, taking the time to curl around the muscle of your calf and to reach the soft spot at the back of your knee he knew would cause goosebumps to rise. He sighed your name just as his hand moved to caress the sensitive area of your inner thigh. 

Emboldened by how the night was progressing, Alastor reached and drew a lone finger along the wetness shining against your folds. 

“Already so wet for me,” he murmured, tone slightly astonished, as if he still was coming to terms with the physicality of your reaction to him. “So ready, so  _ eager. _ ” 

Alastor moved to settle between your legs so he could hover over your core; his hands moved to hook your legs up, once more opening you up to his gaze. He took a moment to rake his eyes over the sight you offered, sinful flesh glistening in the dim lighting, and then with no more time to be wasted, Alastor's tongue replaced his finger, mapping the same course from top to bottom of your folds. 

Your hips lifted, chasing the feeling of him, warm and wet, against your oversensitive flesh. His free hand moved to rest against your lower belly, the muscle there twitching at his touch. His fingers moved to draw lazy circles around your belly button, before shifting just slightly lower again to rest protectively there. 

There was enough pressure behind his touch for you to know he was asking you to stay. 

As though to reward you for listening (for once - ), Alastor's mouth returned to the top of your labia, his lips seeking out the small bundle of nerves tucked away there. Your back arched, your lower half still effectively pinned, as his mouth worked hotly against you, the flame of desire that had been growing in your core flaring brightly, your eyes squeezed tightly against his onslaught. 

His lips tugged and suckled sweetly against your clit; after a few moments, your hips quivering under his hold, his mouth sought to connect to your slit, tongue seeking out more of your arousal, now steadily pooling between your thighs. His nose brushed, achingly slow, against your swollen bud of nerves, the touch too fleeting and inconsistent to truly bring you to the edge.

Heat was something that you had come to know in your carnal relations with him; how everything slowly began to feel more and more constrictive while your heart rate rose to accommodate the blood flow in your nether-regions. Your face had grown warm, your eyes which had once been shut tight now peeking open to watch his actions against you. To see him buried between your thighs, to  _ feel  _ him suckle on your more intimate area was enough for your breath to shorten. 

It was difficult to keep still, despite the extra weight that he applied just above your hips to aid in it. Every part of you fought to squirm away while the other wanted him to get even  _ closer,  _ to spread you apart with his fingers and fill the room with lewd noises. It was ridiculous how easily he could get you to be pliable to him, like a shapeless mound of clay awaiting to be molded into something extraordinary; although, you supposed you never did fight back against his affections.

You were head over heels for him, as old wives would claim. 

The honeymoon stage of young lovers too wrapped up in each other to care about the reality of the world that continued on without them. 

But you were fine with that - you wouldn’t change anything about it, him, this moment, or any moment you had with him. Because as you raised your hand to gently root your fingers through his hair in an attempt to keep him locked against you, you  _ knew  _ you would always fall victim to his affections, even after arguments or whatever fit in that sort of criteria. 

Self control did not exist when it came to him, and selfishly, you liked it that way.

You had barely noticed how your breath was hitching in your lungs, unable to take in enough air as your orgasm was again and again ripped away from you when his tongue fell to stroke across your labia or even dip into your entrance. “You’re edging me…” you panted, although you couldn’t help the laugh that tumbled from your lips, the sobriety still within your half-drunk mind. “You’re… Mm… Cruel.”

Alastor barely heard your words, his own heartbeat sounding almost painfully in his ears as he continued to devour you; his length was throbbing, straining against its thin cover. Unable to help himself, Alastor thrust shallowly against the edge of the mattress, the slight friction just enough to offer some relief. 

He hummed then, lips still cradling your over-stimulated clit, wanting to acknowledge that he was still present for you, although it took several seconds for your meaning to hit him. 

When Alastor finally lifted his face, you could see your own slick coating the bottom of his face, shining even in the dimness of his bedroom. He shifted so he was above and leaning over you, and brought one leg of yours up so he could reach your foot and trace his lips along the inside of your insole; when you squirmed from the ticklish sensation, Alastor moved to press a kiss to the delicate bone of your ankle, and then again to press his lips to the top of your knee cap. 

"I'm afraid I simply can't help myself, sweetheart," he murmured to the inside of your thigh as he repositioned himself to lie between your legs; you could feel his lips, sticky with your drying arousal. "You are truly delectable." 

He nipped the sensitive patch of skin that sat just before your core, causing your entire lower belly to quiver. 

"But as I said before," Alastor paused to shift rapidly again, this time your legs falling to encircle his thin waist. "If you need more, you need only ask." 

Alastor gave you his best cheshire-cat grin and tapped the tip of your nose with a finger; you blinked up at him, trying your best to look scornful of his teasing despite the fact that you were sweaty, flushed, and still panting  _ beautifully _ beneath him. 

He gave you a wink, before shifting just enough to latch his mouth to one of your nipples, lazily swirling his tongue over it as it pebbled at his attention. Ignoring your gasp, he continued on moving down your form, pressing wet, open mouthed kisses to various spots - once to the middle of your sternum, another to the top of your belly button. 

The man paused here, just long enough to trace the tip of his nose down until it rested just above your pelvis. Alastor sighed, breath washing intimately over you, before he dropped a kiss to the skin there. In spite of the pleasure coiling in your gut, your heart nearly burst at the sight of him nuzzled against you there. 

"Can you handle taking my fingers, sweet girl?" Alastor moved just enough so he could lock his eyes on your own, his voice a husk growl. "Just a little longer, hmm… until I let you cum on my tongue."

A heavy onslaught of chills ran up your spine then, a shaky inhale gently exhaling as you watched him with a rather unintentionally sleepy look, despite the actions the two of you were committing together. “But I don’t  _ want _ your fingers,” you huffed a bit childishly, fisting the bed with your hands as you tried your best to move your hips up to meet his face again. 

“Your mouth is warm. I love your mouth on me.” You attempted to reach down to him, but only managed to have your hand fall short of him. “I want your tongue inside me, _ ” _ a whine escaped you as your eyes shut tightly as you strained to push your head back into the mountain of pillows, propping you up in a rather perfect position. 

“I wanna cum...” and while your words had to have had your mother rolling in her grave, pre-orgasmic experiences so far have hinted that you were willing to say practically  _ anything  _ to reach that sliver of heaven he so affectionately provided. 

“Then I’ll show you what  _ my _ mouth can do.” You opened your eyes slightly to peer down at him. Longingly, you reached out your hand again to root your fingers through his locks, if he so allowed. 

Alastor grumbled, your name falling from his lips even as the bottom one wobbled suspiciously into a pout. Your fingers reached his tresses this time and with little thought, he leaned into your touch to better receive it. 

"You're insatiable," he cooed to you, a slightly teasing tone colouring his words, his dark eyes staring up from where he lounged against you. "Devilish creature, you're  _ beautiful _ ..." Alastor breathed the last few syllables, unable to hide the rush of sincerity the spilled from him then.

Even in light of the provocative words you had spoken to him (teased him with), it was steadily becoming more and more obvious his affection for you was growing concrete. 

A small voice in the back of his head tried to summon some warning bell against this revelation, but the man pushed past it, intent on claiming what you offered. 

Alastor moved to press his mouth to your hip bone, tracing his lips across the still flat plane of skin until he met the feverish warmth of your core again. One hand came to lay upon your belly, while the other drifted to push your hips up to meet him, fingers fanning across the supple skin of your bum. 

His eyes flicked to meet yours once more, his mouth hovering just above where he knew you'd want it most, his breath hot and tickling over the sensitive, swollen nub nestled here. Your fingers twisted in his hair, a curl tugged gently as if to give him consent.

As if he wasn’t face first between your thighs already, looking like a starving man presented with a steak...

Alastor shifted, sealing his lips once again to your clit, this time making sure to swirl and curl his tongue along the hood, mouth coaxing it to remain enlarged and sensitive. He alternated between gentle tugs and suckling, making sure to pay close attention to the tremble in your lower abdomen and the way your thigh muscles clenched, your knees coming to rest just to the side of his ears to keep him locked close. 

He could feel a fresh trickle of your arousal pooling around his chin, although he wasn't sure if it was from you or his own enthusiasm causing it to spread. Nonetheless, Alastor sought to gather more, wanting nothing more at that moment than to keep tasting you. 

His tongue came to dip into your slick heat, plunging into your core and bring more of you to him. Occasionally, Alastor’s nose would brush against your clit, now nearly torturously overstimulated. He made note of the way your belly shuddered beneath the palm he laid there and made sure to make more decisive, steady strokes with the tip of his nose against your folds.

You wanted to sob from how good he felt, and while you tried your best to stay quiet, the soft and small moans that escaped you were just a fraction of what you really wanted to express. 

But you could not, for you were not alone; and as that familiar heat began to race up your thighs, starting from your toes and ending up in your gut, you arched into him as you neared your completion, unable to keep yourself still as your body instinctively tried to both get  _ away  _ from the stimulation and get  _ closer.  _

“I’m gonna cum,” you gasped out a heated breath. “Please let me cum, pleaseletmecum… please, please…” 

Alastor hummed, pleased by the note of desperation in your voice and the strain evident in your form as you withered against his bed. The added feeling of vibration against your clit was just enough to take you right to the edge again, your hips lifting despite his grip on you to grind wantonly against his face. 

He adjusted his efforts one last time, taking to sucking and nuzzling with just the right (now ingrained) understanding of what you needed. Electricity shot up the nerves of your legs, making them clench down on him, as you finally -  _ blessedly _ \- crested the wave of pleasure that bloomed white-hot in your core. 

Your back arched up off the bed enough to make your neck drop back at an odd angle, your toes curling as your fingers fisted the sheets as if to ground yourself. 

Alastor stayed connected to you as you rode out the remains of your orgasm. When you finally settled - boneless and sated against his pillow- he lifted his head to better see the effects. His eyes crinkled, shit-eating grin present on his face in spite of the fact that his skin glistened with your drying slick and his lips were swollen from his affections.

"Good show, gorgeous." He turned to smoosh his face against one thigh, his nose scrunched up, so he could give an open-mouthed kiss.

You were left panting softly; perhaps from how exhausted you actually were (because good lord did this man have stamina) rather than the actual side effects of his actions upon you. Your pupils were dilated to full proportion, the darkness of the room aiding in such a thing before you, almost lazily, reached out for him. “C’mere,” you cooed, before leaning forwards once your wits began to return to you.

With your hands easing up on their grip upon his quilt, you leaned on one and held yourself up with the other. You didn’t mind that you were rid of the boxers at this point, and you couldn’t be bothered to put them back on for decency sake when you had done worse things when it came to him. The last thing you should have been worried about was something so minute. So you didn’t. Instead, you brought your index finger to his chin and led him closer to your face. 

You pressed your nose to his briefly, before moving to hover your lips just over his. You could see the glisten of your drying arousal on his lower face, and despite being sated, a sharp pang of post-orgasmic pleasure rolled through you, just enough to encourage you to press your lips sweetly to his. There was no need for the rush, and as you leaned back into the pillows, leading him to hover over you, you brought your right hand down to press into his lower abdomen. 

“Your wish is-“ you were cut off by a kiss, “-my command.” Although, those last words were more muffled and mumbled against his lips. 

Alastor's hips stuttered subconsciously at the touch of your palm against him, his mouth brushing against yours again as he breathed through his nose, the puff of air a short, sharp thing. 

While he had been so caught up in what he had been doing to you, the way you felt and moved and  _ tasted _ , admittedly he had forgotten about his own state; now, Alastor was more than aware that his cock was straining against the thin constraints of his boxers, throbbing in time to his heartbeat and smearing a trail of his own arousal along the front seam of the material.

The man ghosted his lips over your own, before moving to press a kiss to the tip of your chin and then again to the edge of your jawline, “I won't need much, sweetheart,” his voice was surprisingly soft, like he was still coming to terms with the physical needs you brought out in him. “Your touch is enough.”

You sighed his name with the same reverence he often said yours with, your hand all too happily slipping beneath the waistline of his boxers to be greeted by his swollen, hot tip and the evidence of his sustained arousal clinging to your fingertips as you brushed against him. Your hand wrapped around his girth and you gave him a few slow but steady strokes.

Alastor groaned, eyes fluttering shut. He leaned into your touch, moving so he could prop himself on his hands while leaning his head against your neck. The height difference meant that the man was hunched over you, the lean muscles of his torso quivering in the dim lighting. His hair, deliciously mussed and curling slightly from the thin layer of sweat that gathered at his temples, tickled as Alastor buried his face further into you.

You moved your hand up along his length again, making sure to add a small twist to your motion as you reached the head, using the slick that gathered there to ease your motions. He lurched forward, causing more of his weight to land against you, but his heat and the feel of his lanky form was more than welcome.

“D-Darling,” Alastor's usually smooth tone hitched, his shuddering breath causing his words to come out jumbled. “Just like that m'love, good g-girl...” his hips moved again, this time thrusting just enough to add a little more friction to your affections.

Your palm rubbed against the head again, once, twice, and a third time before you could see the muscles in his neck beginning to cord; Alastor rubbed his face against the column of your neck, his mouth open, panting, so his teeth knocked against your skin.

You couldn't contain the small giggle that escaped you then, to have such a man turn to putty just from your touch alone; it made heat flare in your belly slightly, although you pushed it aside to return your attention to him. Your fingers gripped his length again, the tell-tale pulse steady now, and with a few more squeezing tugs you  _ knew _ he was close.

One particularly tight squeeze to the head made Alastor lurch again, your name tumbling from his lips in a whoosh of air as he pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against your own. You clicked your tongue, and the hand you had free moved to land at his sternum, so you could push him up just enough so that he moved to rest on his knees.

You moved quickly, sitting up and positioning yourself to you could better reach him from this angle, before he could fully wrap his (rapidly melting) brain around what you were doing; your mouth wrapped around his flushed tip, tongue lingering on the bitter taste of his slick. Hollowing your cheeks, you took him as deep into your mouth as you could, tongue curling around him.

That was all Alastor needed to allow himself to fall over the edge of his own release; one hand came to fist in your hair, with little care for how his blunt nails scratched against your scalp. You felt his cock throb and made sure your tongue was flat and broad as you moved against him.

You heard Alastor moan your name, his voice so soft you barely heard over the lewd sounds your mouth was making and the thump of your own pulse in your ears. His meaning was clear though, and you dutifully hollowed your cheeks one last time; you were rewarded by his warmth, bitter and slightly briny, flooding your tongue as he finally met his completion. 

It didn’t take you long to respond in earnest, a soft hum escaping your throat as your tongue lavished across his slit in order to collect as much of his release as you could; at the specific jolt of his hips, however, you understood the overstimulation and gently let him go. You watched in silence as his lungs continued to pull in oxygen, even with the onslaught being over. You didn’t blame him, though, the two of you were learning as you went on and it gave you comfort in knowing that you offered him just as much pleasure as he did you.

Breathing like some winded wild beast, Alastor gently, without a word, pressed his nose to yours and then simply pitched forward, twisting at the last second to flop in his back, long legs dangling over the bottom edge of the bed. 

“Al…” you murmured then, coming up to straddle his waist before, unceremoniously, flopping onto him so that you laid on him. Perhaps it was the position, but you were suddenly hit with a wave of exhaustion that caused a yawn to slip from your lips, just as you buried your head beneath his chin. “L’you.” 

And while the word was barely comprehensible, you didn’t have the luxury to reinstate your affection for him because the moment you closed your eyes, you were instantly greeted by a world of make believe, a land that your dreams could be crafted, and your unconsciousness could reign supreme. 

Alastor felt you settle against him, felt as you drifted off to sleep, your mumbled confession reaching his sharp hunters ears in spite of the exhaustion slurring your words. 

Still breathing slightly off normal, the man stared up at the ceiling and willed his heart to slow in it's thundering beating. Out of the corner of his eye, Alastor watched as his shadow blossomed, form coming to life from the darker side of the room where no lamp light could truly reach. 

Its eyes, bottomless and eternal, crinkled at the edges in mockery of its Master. Alastor tore his own gaze away and returned to staring upwards; his pulse still too erratic to allow him to also slip into slumber. 

You shifted against him and he couldn't deny the speed at which he adjusted his arms around you to better support you; the realization made him sigh, weariness evident. 

Alastor shifted just enough so he could tangle a hand in your hair - content to just hold you until sleep would claim him - and when he spoke his voice was gravelly and hoarse, as if unused to forming the syllables he chose. 

"I love you…" 


	12. Oh Fuck, Uhhh...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ⚠️Warning:⚠️ explicit sexual content, period-typical racism
> 
> a/n: there’s a lil bit of a hint somewhere in the chapter for how the story’s gonna go if you look hard enough. ;)

Surprisingly enough, it was not the late morning sun that finally brought Alastor from his slumber despite the fact that the pair of you slept long into the daylight hours; he was pulled from deep, heavy sleep sluggishly, blinking in the light that filtered in through the curtain and for a wild moment, his foggy brain couldn't quite place what had stirred him, until his stomach gave another hearty growl, lurching slightly from hunger pains. After all, he had only had a few spoonfuls of the gumbo...

A tilt of his head brought you, or rather, the crown of your hair, into sight. The two of you had shifted in the early morning hours, both of you now on yours sides but facing each other still, your smaller frame tucked under Alastor's chin – looking for all the world as though you belonged no where else.

Allowing himself to selfishly enjoy the feel of you against him as you continued to sleep (oblivious to the man now nuzzling his nose along your cheek) Alastor wasn't sure if he wanted to wake you or continue to hold you. He noted the way one of your hands was delicately curled over his chest, your nimble fingers pressed to his skin as though to anchor yourself to him.

The sight caused his overactive mind to jump to action and Alastor felt a small spike of uncertainty at the image of your bare ring finger. He supposed he ought to remedy that, and quickly – not just because of what social norm might dictate, but also to perhaps help soothe the possessive streak in him when it came to you. 

While there would be some that would turn up their noses at the sight of a white woman wearing the ring of a mixed raced man, Alastor knew it would also draw the attention of any blue-nose around.

He wanted to make sure it was clear who you belonged to. To make it clear who's baby would be growing inside you...his own family, not too unlike the one he had grown up in himself perhaps. It made a sense of pride swell in his chest, and Alastor moved just enough to pull you in tighter to his chest.

Romantic love was new to him still, but family was something Alastor had always understood.

Another loud growl from his stomach broke Alastor's train of thought, his mind turning to how best approach his body's need for nutrients (and, after such a long sleep, a stop to freshen up in the bathroom) and yet not disturb you from your rest, unaware that the continued noise from his belly was slowly bringing you back to consciousness. 

That being said, your face had begun to twitch and make rather funny flexes in your slowly-awakening state. Your fingers moved on their own accord, as if the muscles and nerves were jump-starting for the day as you, finally, wearily blinking your eyes open. Your eyebrows were furrowed gently as a small noise escaped you in your discontent with being woken up; and as your state only continued to grow more delicate, you would only continue to become grumpier. 

Although, you didn’t feel much different than you usually did, and with the close connection to his neck, you were briefly fooled to believe that it was still dark out. At least, until you shifted just enough to let some light peek through. You hesitated to move more, completely content on simply resting while he physically manipulated you in however way he so desired, because let’s face it, this pregnancy, only about three and a half weeks in, was already kicking your ass. 

“Don’t wanna wake up,” you mumbled half to yourself and half to Alastor, still on the verge of going straight back to sleep. 

You pressed yourself closer to him, a grumble escaping you as you raised a leg and dangled it over his waist, your one hand coming to move his arm off of you so that instead _you_ could wrap it around his shoulder. There. Still shut-eyed, you were at least more comfortable. Your bladder felt like it was going to explode, but you were comfortable. That was all that mattered.

Alastor ran one hand up and along the side of the leg you had draped over his waist, humming his agreement in spite of his gnawing insides. 

Your breath fanned across his chest, your lips brushing against him as you murmured, and Alastor was startling aware of the fact that if you demanded it, he would make it so.

It was both somehow a terrifying and yet pleasing thought. 

A strange tingle ran down his spine, slight unease erupting in his gut that had nothing to do with his physical hunger...the same pent up energy as the night before came simmering to the surface, disembodied voices cooing in his ears...the part of him he had so far been keeping under wraps was moving closer and closer and closer - 

Knowing that action often helped assuage his less than savory tendencies, Alastor reluctantly began to untangle himself from your hold, although he took a moment to run his hand down your arm as he settled you, his touch just as reverent as it had been before. 

"Breakfast in bed, it is, dearest." Alastor pressed his mouth to your ear, breath tickling; half dozing still, you shied away from the sensation. 

The man made sure to tuck you in again, and only once Alastor was sure you had nodded off again did he finally leave the bed, grabbing a fresh pair of slacks and a new button up on his way past his wardrobe. Despite the fact that he was in bare feet, Alastor managed to slip from the room without making any sound, leaving you cozied up and oblivious to the world once more. 

Once Alastor breached the hallway, the rest of the house was suspiciously quiet; he wondered briefly if his mother had been called off somewhere and made a mental note to check-in. 

His first stop was the bathroom, where he quickly washed and tidied up. It took him a little longer than usual to comb through his tangled tresses, his tongue peeking through his teeth as he worked. With one last look at his reflection in the mirror - ignoring the shadow that bloomed in the corner between the tub and the toilet, creeping until it could also gaze into the mirror - Alastor gave his hands one last wash and then traipsed back into the hall. 

Maggie’s door was cracked slightly, but as he caught no sound of movement, Alastor simply bypassed it to make his way past the sitting room, also empty, and into the quaint kitchen. 

There, a glance at the small clock told him it was later than he had expected; nearly 11am. Alastor stopped short, his mind working: he had an evening program to host at 4pm, but that at least gave him enough time to make sure you (and the little one) ate and were escorted home before he had to work. 

Some part of him waffled, wondering if it was right to just send you home to face your family when he had kept you away so long. It would mean a bit of damage control at a later time, Alastor supposed, but if anything he was dandy at charming even the toughest people when he needed to. 

A bottle of good brandy or a box of cigars might help soothe the sting for your father - Alastor made a mental note to stop by Mimzy's later; she often had contraband tucked away in the back of her little cafe, and no doubt a gift of good will might help him in the long run. 

Giving his head a shake, Alastor moved to the stove to begin his prep; it was only as he reached for the coffee canister did he see the note, scrawled in his mother's writing, mentioning she had gone ahead and picked up an extra shift (and that he shouldn't forget to turn out the hens) and would be home later. 

Within fifteen minutes, Alastor had coffee, scrambled eggs, and left over biscuits and gravy he had nicked from the ice chest (admittedly a sore spot, he hadn't quite saved enough of his pay to help Maggie get a proper electric fridge). He had almost entered the hallway, balancing the plates and cups with ease, before he thought better and returned to grab an apple or two in case you desired something fresher. 

His shadow greeted him from the darker corner of the long hall once Alastor approached, its bottomless eyes narrowed and grin maddeningly wide, as if to tease the man. Nonetheless, Alastor breezed past, focused more on not toppling the spread of food than anything. 

The shadow blinked from existence as soon as Alastor reached out a hand to open his door, something the man was grateful for. Although a mere mirror image of his own, the creature was prone to mischief and causing distress when given the chance; not exactly how Alastor wished the day to go. 

He managed to shut the door with one knee, before turning to survey the room. You were still curled up under his quilt, tussled hair the only thing showing past the edge of the covers. 

Lips twitching into an impish grin, and in spite of what his new found paternal pride was urging him to do, Alastor set the dishes on the top of his dresser and moved back to the bed to eye your form. He called your name once, and then again, watching as you muttered and then rolled, only serving to cocoon yourself more. 

Alastor clicked his tongue, knowing that your shared time was running short and unable to help himself from selfishly wanting your attention before you both had to get in with your duties. As much as he wanted to, it wouldn't do to keep you completely to himself yet.

"Sweetheart, you need to wake up now."

Silence greeted him.

"You should eat, sweet girl, before the day truly gets away on us." 

His sweet-talk did nothing but prompt you to mutter under your breath, voice hoarse and slurred from sleep still. You shifted, borrowing under his pillow that held the faint scent of him, masculine and heady, and ensuring the light was blocked before allowing yourself to get swept away by the dredges of sleep...

The quilt was whipped off your body, faster than your sluggish mind could comprehend. One moment you were swathed in warmth and comfort; the next, you were blinking in sunlight as his pillow was also yanked away. 

The peal of laughter nearby told you who exactly was responsible. 

You greeted the daylight with a frown, the effects of sleep still very present on your face as you blinked away the remnants; pulling away the warm covers was one thing, but the _pillow?_ Oh, the audacity of the man! A pout formed upon your lips as you brought your hands up to palm at your eyes, a small groan escaping your body when you turned to lie on your back from your original belly-position (something that you knew you wouldn’t be able to do for very long, so you were absolutely going to make the most of it).

A stretch followed, your back arching slightly just as you wiggled your toes. And then a yawn, before you finally blinked a multitude of times to bring yourself into the - _ugh_ \- waking world. The first sight that greeted you was that you weren’t in your own room, the second was the shit-eating grin that belonged to none other than the man that was the living and breathing representation of a fast food toilet (at least at that moment). Any other moment he would have been the most beautiful man you had ever laid eyes on, but now? 

Nah.

Nahhh.

Squinting up at him, partially because of the stream of light that originated from the window, and half because you were _this_ close to snapping his third set of glasses. But just as quickly, the tension snapped and your features relaxed, before falling back onto the bed; the sudden weight upon it caused you to bounce slightly. “Can’t believe you’re stripping your pregnant fiancé of her only cover,” you huffed, throwing an arm over your eyes.

You reached over and grabbed another pillow - ha! He didn’t think about _that,_ did he? - and moved to replace your arms with it over your face. “Crueeeeel…” A muffled complaint. 

Alastor managed to snatch the pillow off you, his speed aiding him in spite of your iron grip on the thing. His mouth was still quirked, charmingly lopsided, his dark eyes flashing with his usual wit. 

"Cruel would be letting my _pregnant fiancé_ free on the streets with an empty stomach." Alastor took the pillow and had the audacity to simply toss it over his shoulder. 

He reached out then and ran his pointer finger up the insole of your left foot, eyes narrowing in his ill-hid glee when your foot jerked back at his ticklish touch. 

"Although I do hate to disturb you, little bird," he cooed down to you. "You do look awfully good in my bed." 

You gawked at him before huffing out a loud breath for the umpteenth time in exasperation. He didn’t hate disturbing you - look at that grin! He was having the time of his life! But as much as you wanted to despise him for it, the way his eyes roamed over your form had you in quite the tizzy _very_ quickly, and you sputtered out an incoherent whine about the terrible world. 

With a crinkle to your nose, you pushed yourself up with your elbows and shifted so that you sat up on your knees. 

Perhaps a bit amusing, you attempted to crawl towards the edge of the bed and, sitting up, moved to wrap your arms around his shoulder; your body hopefully anchoring him to you, although you were pretty sure he could - if the two of you had been from the twenty-first century - WWE body-slam you into the ground with ease if he so chose. 

Even if he didn’t look like it, he was a lean, mean, fighting machine.

You shifted to where you could bend him towards you, and in that moment, your nose pressed into his gingerly. “Your smile begs to differ, sir.” You rubbed it against his with a soft smile, as if you hadn’t been mildly pissed just a second ago. You chalked it up to his stupid-hot-guy appearance. 

Because let’s face it, if this baby didn’t look even _slightly_ like him, you would ask for a refund.

That man was a _god._

“I’m almost _certain_ you’re enjoying messing with my sleep more than you should be,” your lips brushed against his gently, “- but feel free to correct me if I’m wrong.” 

Alastor - ever the glutton for anything the slightest bit hedonistic (especially when it came to you) - shifted so he could better kiss you, his lips slotting to fill the space of your own with familiar ease. His nose fit to the side of your own perfectly, and in his enthusiasm, the cold rim of his glasses brushed your face; meanwhile, Alastor’s hands moved to settle on your hips, pulling closer still. 

Although the kiss was particularly chaste, especially in light of how hot and heavy the two of you had been so much earlier, you still felt a burst of butterflies twist your belly. 

Damn him. 

"As much as I'd like to show you just how fine a dish you are, doll, " Alastor murmured against your mouth when he finally parted from you. "Those dishes,” he jerked his head back in the direction of the dresser, where the plates of breakfast food still sat. "Will be getting cold soon."

Your eyes fluttered closed as you leaned in again, chasing his sweet affection (you were a sucker for his kisses) for as long as you could before you finally hummed in compliance. Your stomach, in response to your thoughts about _food,_ grumbled and growled it’s discontent with being empty, and you found yourself nodding before you could stop yourself. 

“‘Kay,” a sigh slipped from you, perhaps because you weren’t entirely happy to part from him. Sliding off of the bed, you let the dress shirt crumble down to the bottom of your thighs, successfully covering your intimate area from view, just before you gasped against the cool tile of the wood. 

“So cold, so cold, so cold—“ you hopped over to his dresser and began to go through them, narrowly avoiding what would have been a disastrous confrontation if you had checked the first drawer. 

Underwear, slacks, a-ha! Socks. You grabbed a pair of black socks out of the drawer before nudging it closed with the back of your foot, just as you turned around. Hopping up on one leg, you managed to put your left foot in one, before doing it with the other promptly. Although, you were able to grip onto the bureau to aid in your balance, nails accidentally scratching the paint that had begun to chip from wear. 

You didn’t notice.

When your two feet were firmly planted on the floor again, you were left to meet Alastor’s gaze with a silly grin of your own. “Don’t worry,” you let your hand fall to your side as you walked past him and towards the plates and cups. You could smell the food from here. “What’s yours is mine, what’s mine is yours,” you waved a hand around - “yadda, yadda.” 

Honestly, you were more focused on the food, and without waiting for any sort of green-light, you picked up a warm biscuit and brought it to your mouth. Fluffy. Yum. Turning around, you hopped back onto the bed and kicked your feet absentmindedly. “‘S good,” you took another bite, your stomach finally becoming tame. “You cook?” 

Alastor’s eyes had crinkled, his smile closed mouth but still beaming as he watched you finally (l̶i̶s̶t̶e̶n̶ed) begin to eat. That swelling sense of demented masculine pride at being some sort of _provider_ , no matter how domestic, was back. 

“Maggie taught me,” his voice was soft; Alastor moved to gather a plate of the food and a cup before settling his weedy form back against the headboard of his bed. “Good food is universal, darling.” 

His legs splayed and he nodded at the space, as though expecting you to rest against him. 

You were quick to hop off of the bed to grab a plate of your own, and while you could have easily just reached over and grabbed it considering it was conveniently placed on the bedside table, you didn’t want to risk accidentally spilling anything; that would just ruin the entirety of the morning and you didn’t want to spend it _cleaning._

What little time you did have until you had to return home - although you were sort of dreading the conversation that would inevitably happen - you wanted to spend with Alastor. 

Keeping the coffee where it had been prior to you moving, you held the plate in one hand, turned around, clambered back onto the bed, and collapsed into his lap in one fell swoop. Thankfully, the foods you were balancing didn’t fall off, and you placed the plate just next to you atop the quilt, careful with your movements as you reached over, grabbed the second biscuit, and took a bite out of it. 

When you came to rest again, you were between his legs, lounging on his stomach with your own stomach. “Smiles are universal, too.” You commented after swallowing a bite, just as you reached up and poked your finger to his cheek. “You have a dimple,” you noticed the small indentation before, but now you could _really_ see it. Resting your chin on his chest, you let a silly smile grace your features. “Doesn’t it hurt smiling so much? How do you do it? Tell me your _secrets.”_

All in all, you felt rather playful. 

Alastor narrowed his eyes at you, just as equally as playful. He paused a moment to lift his own fork from his plate to nudge against your lips, a piece of egg dangling there as though he didn’t trust you to feed yourself. 

“I told you, dearest, you’re never fully dressed without one.” Alastor tapped the tip of your nose as you peered up at him. There was a brief pause, egg and fork forgotten, in which he seemed to withdraw within himself, his lips setting in a firm line. In the bout of silence, you returned to reality and took a bite of the egg.

He opened his mouth once and then again, seeming to _waffle_ over his choice of words. 

“I was an easy target for the school yard bullies,” his voice was soft, a vulnerable lilt to it. “My mother always told me to wear my smile, no matter what, just to give them hell for their troubles.” He gave a slight shrug. “I suppose the habit simply carried with me.” 

“And did you give it to them?” You murmured, leaning forward to take the final bite of the egg. Curse his godly cooking skills, good lord. “Hell?” A side-eyed glance. 

The man gifted you one of his infamous smirks, a tell tale answer all in itself. 

“Tease a man all you want, darling.” He gave you a gentle nudge with one of his knees in jest. “I may not look it, but I can hold my own.” 

“Oh, I _know_ you can,” you laughed softly. “You have the strength of a thousand men, Romeo. I don’t doubt that.” You stuck out your tongue. 

The man hummed, his own tongue coming to peek through his lips in a sign of momentary unease. Openness with another wasn’t something he was familiar with, and although the moment of brevity offered by your playful teasing was welcome, it did make Alastor wonder if you quite grasped what troubles may be headed your way. 

He placed a warm hand on the small of your back, anchoring you to his front, his mind racing. 

While he was in his own headspace, you had fallen into your own. Bouts of silence weren’t… necessarily _common_ with how often the man babbled on, and on, and on, and- you get the picture; but they weren’t unfamiliar either. In fact, it gave the two of you time to just _embrace_ each other, all the while fighting off the demons in your heads. Reaching over to steal his biscuit, as you had already eaten the two that were on your plate, you pushed it to his lips gently, as though trying not to disturb him. 

When he did take it out of your hand, you turned your attention back to the eggs on your plate and, soon enough, amidst your thoughts, you had cleared it. Although, you didn’t nod to it considering that you were _starving._ Not only that, but you were quite literally eating for two now and you couldn’t let yourself slip from getting the proper nutrients.

“Al?” You had found yourself resting on his chest at that moment, his weighted touch against you accepted and something that gave you comfort as you listened to the steady _thad-ump_ of his heart. “You told me you were terrified,” you whispered, bringing your one hand to rest next to your face. Suddenly, an onslaught of thoughts that had been festering in the back of your mind came forward, overflowing.

“... Do you regret that night?” Perhaps the quietest you had ever been. 

Alastor gave you a blank stare, brain shorting slightly, biscuit half raised to his mouth. He thought he had made it rather clear...

"No." His voice was steady despite the sensitive topic. Perhaps it was the feel of your weight against him, or the way the late morning sun was catching the colour of your hair, or perhaps further, the innate need to prove himself worthy of that fact that you were carrying his child. 

A child sure to be born visibly mixed raced. 

A child born into the higher threshold of poverty, but poverty all the same. 

It made his chest tighten, aching with a surge of anxiety; quite uncommon for him but becoming more and more familiar as time marched on and certain issues remained...

It was all too easy of a rabbit hole to spiral into; Alastor flexed the hand he still rested against you, relishing in the feel of you as he always did. You were a walking embodiment of a childhood blankie, soothing his nerves. 

"No, I don't regret it, sweetheart." Alastor shifted his eyes to meet your own, dropping the biscuit back to his plate so he could place his other hand at the nape of your neck, cradling you close. 

"It’s certainly not what I had in mind, no doubt, but I'm rather fond of you, you know, no saving you now I'm afraid." The last half of his speech had a teasing tone to it, his other hand moving from your back to squeeze your side gently. 

Your smile was small, tight, but somehow still genuine all the same. Even if he could never love you, you knew deep inside that you wouldn’t ever be able to find another love like him; and you wouldn’t dare to give your heart away to someone new. But you had told him that from the very start - even if it simply had been out infatuation and not actual love. 

But now, now you were certain it was. 

You loved him.

“I’m scared.” You admitted, moving to tuck your head underneath his chin. “That I’m going to mess up somehow. I want to be a good mother but when I’m compared to your mother or even _mine,”_ you sighed, the softest of frowns touching your lips. “I don’t even come close. I’ve always been interested in things that girls would be mildly appalled to see another girl doing.” 

You fit more into the criteria of a tomboy than anything else, which is why the flappers called to you. Wild, rambunctious women that you probably would have become if Alastor hadn’t come into your life. 

You nuzzled your nose into his neck, pressing a brief, chaste kiss there. 

“Obviously I would never be someone on the battlefield or anything,” you truly frowned at the thought of the thousands that fought in the Great War. “But it frustrates me knowing that even if I wanted to be, I wouldn’t stand a chance. The average woman that every woman strives to be is the one they see in the newspaper. A royal, loyal, bred _bitch._ ” You spat, nose wrinkling.

“Nevermind.” You were salty at society and would absolutely 1v1 them if it was an actual person. “What I’m saying is that I don’t know if I can be the wife or mom that your mother strives for her son.” Tilting your head down, you grabbed the hand that was free and intertwined your fingers absentmindedly, perhaps as a comfort for yourself. 

Perhaps for him. 

You lifted your head up and, with a gentle smile, tilted your head slightly to fit your lips to his. For a long moment, you simply held them there; the kiss long but meaningful until you pulled away for a breath, just enough so you could rest your forehead against his. “But you bet your ass I’m gonna try.”

Alastor brought his hand to cup your cheek, securing your mouth to his for a moment longer, wanting to keep the taste of you on his lips. 

When he pulled away, he quirked an eyebrow at you, "I truly do wish you'd learn to listen, silly girl," he teased. "I suppose I'll just have to keep reminding you that," he tapped your nose again, eyes squinting in good humour. "I'm doing this right along-side you, darling. We'll piece it together as we go." 

He hesitated, the lines of his face growing strained despite the grin on his lips. 

"I had...a rather unconventional childhood, darling, at least by most folks' definition. " Alastor’s accent came in thicker as his earnesty grew. There were few souls alive that knew of some of what he had faced growing up. 

"It terrifies me to think of what our child will face - _undoubtedly_ will face - and how I can help prepare them," he hesitated slightly, as though choosing his words carefully. "My father was a good man, but he was a man of his time. My mother was never truly his equal, although he treated her kindly." 

Alastor shifted, arms maneuvering your body closer to him, subconsciously seeking the comfort only you seemed to offer. 

"He never quite understood _her_ struggle either. 'Though Maggie made sure to teach me, and I intend on doing the same for our little one," he gave you a slight squeeze, the tension in his face finally breaking and he looked much more _Alastor-like_. "Besides, if we do poorly enough, we can try again with another!" He threw his head back with a laugh.

It wasn’t that you didn’t listen - Alastor had told you a multitude of times - but instead, it was more of the fact that it was difficult to believe; how could you possibly come to terms with the understanding that you were truly going to be _parents?_ You barely had time to really… think about it, the sudden fast paced lifestyle you had found yourself in was demanding in time.

With it came plans, backup plans, and backup plans for those backup plans, so on and so forth. You were left in the silence of your own thoughts, even as Alastor’s laugh flooded through the vicinity of his room; he had a contagious laugh, one that even had you smiling subconsciously. For some reason, you thought him to want to marry you solely for the reason of social norm, but when faced with the past few days…

Perhaps not. Especially if he joked about trying again - it meant he wanted to _stay_ with you, to the very end. And you weren’t sure why, but you were overcome with a strong sense of emotion in that moment, something that (in accordance to your pregnancy) would experience quite often. 

A keening sound tumbled in your throat and, while he was still chuckling beneath you at his stupid joke, you reached up and crushed your lips to his without warning. You loved him to the point of you unable to _see_ your life being any sort of other way.

To the point it hurt.

At the clash of your lips against his, Alastor let out a soft ‘oof,’ the force of your urgency knocking a slight puff of breath from his lungs. He blinked once and then wrapped his arms around you, shifting you so you could lean against him more, enabling him to better meet the angle of your head. His eyes closed with a pleased hum, the small voice in the back of his head noting how perfectly your lips seemed to fit to his - your affection was a new form of addiction. 

Warmth bloomed in his chest, and for one selfish moment, his overactive mind began to race with a number of possible schemes that would stall you and keep you firmly in his bed, rather than face losing you to the tasks of the day. 

Thankfully, you were just as eager to stay exactly where you were. There was a sense of selfishness in your own actions that, if you could have read his mind, would have nearly mirrored his own. You wanted to _stay_ , grow old and whatever that stupid saying was that made you grow warm with joy from the possibility that it could very well be how your story ends. But that was what everyone wanted; you never really got to choose, no matter how safely you lived your life.

There was something so _simple_ in kissing him that made all of your anxieties and thoughts dissipate into mere fragments, inevitably to be reformed later when your wits returned to you and you weren’t chasing after the comfort of his affection. Perhaps it was because he _wasn’t_ an affectionate man that made it more special, or maybe it was something else completely that you weren’t able to dig up a reason for.

Your hair fell to the sides of his face as you pressed yourself closer. 

As much as you loved Ruth and your father, there was nobody in the world that was like him, and you didn’t want to waste a single second. Even the stupid arguments you got in with him were worth your time, and after all of that, you still feared him leaving you - and if that wasn’t love, you weren’t sure what was.

You pulled back just enough to brush your lips against his as you spoke: “Call out.” You mumbled. “I don’t want you to go…” You leaned back to squash your nose against his, closing your eyes briefly. You were mainly making excuses so you didn’t have to confront your father about your plans. 

You broke contact and lowered your face to press your lips to his neck. “Stay,” you breathed, trailing kisses across his jugular in your best attempt to sugar-coat your shitty attempt to appease him enough. “I’m more fun than work.” 

Alastor hummed again in response, the vibration noticeable against your lips. His hands had moved to support your lower half, warm palm covering the expanse of your soft thigh. 

“‘Suppose I could find someone to take the start of my program… air time is valuable.” He murmured, although he sounded more as if he was talking to himself than necessarily to you; your lips were still connected to his skin, your mouth tracing a pattern down the length to his shoulder and then back to the place where his ear lobe met his cheek. 

Honestly, you weren’t even expecting it to work.

In fact, you were so surprised that you even paused amidst your throws of affection to listen to him contemplate to himself. Some part of you told you to just keep smooching him, as if that would make a huge difference. So you did. 

Alastor murmured your name against your lips once they had met his again, your onslaught not ceasing more than a moment. While arguably he was more than happy to indulge your clear craving for affection, your choice of words had birthed a new set of chaotic thoughts, his focus wavering from you to the fact that he had planned to take the long route home after his shift, preferring to work out his recent surge of _energy_ outside of what you could safely offer him. 

The dilemma being, of course, how to let his darling fiancé know (without actually _knowing_ ) - 

Alastor pulled back just enough that your lips were finally forced to lose contact with his own; he shifted a hand to wrap around your upper arm, as though to brace you slightly; or, perhaps on some level, assure you that your attention was still wanted. 

“How about dinner and I’ll walk you home before I have to go in, doll?” His grin was genuine, and some part of him was surprised to find he didn’t mind losing the air time over spending more of the day with you. 

You were an affectionate being, and you naturally craved attention in familiar, comforting ways - and now that you were engaged and in a new part of your very, very, _very_ fast paced relationship, you had a freedom that mere ‘friends’ didn’t have.

You were his, and he was yours; in every single meaning. Despite your body still needing time to heal from rough actions, the night had aided you well, and you were mildly surprised at the onslaught of rather unbecoming thoughts.

Only with him. 

“I just want you to myself,” you said finally, meeting his gaze with a genuine smile of your own. “Even if that’s for a few minutes.” You pressed the tip of your nose to his, shutting your eyes as a gentler smile came to possess you. “I’ll take it.” 

Alastor’s eyes narrowed in contentment, although you couldn’t see at the moment, his features more closely mirroring a lazy house cat than anything else. He impishly cupped your face abruptly, squashing his nose more firmly into yours so you made a slight snort of surprise, eyes flying open to meet his own dark, alluring ones. 

“You’re in luck, sweetheart,” his breath was hot against your mouth, your lips slightly oversensitive from your earlier ministrations against him. “We just happen to have the house to ourselves…” He gave the thigh that one hand still rested on a quick, yet gentle, pinch which caused you to jump slightly. 

A surprised breath escaped you, puffing a warm exhale against his lips as you met his gaze once again - you briefly wondered if the child would have his warm gaze; how wonderful that would be - and felt a light blush begin to coat your cheeks, a feat you knew to be occurring due to the warmth that you suddenly felt. 

There was a moment of silent understanding between the two of you, or so you supposed, as you reached over, grabbed the plates, and pushed them onto the bedside table with a slight clatter. They’d be fine.

Probably. 

When you returned to him, although you had never gotten off of him in the first place, you pressed a slow and gentle kiss to his soft lips. Already drunk off of his display of affection, your sensitive lips dared to be explorative by capturing his bottom lip, and then his top, before returning to their original normal position before pulling away to drag the tip of your nose to his cheek.

In a bit of a primal state, you nuzzled into him. “‘M yours.” Your eyes were shut as you did; a gentle sigh fanning across his skin. “Always gonna be.” Perhaps it was a confirmation to yourself, just as much as it was to him. “... Mine.”

Alastor all too gladly took advantage of your position and pressed a hot, open mouthed kiss to the juncture of skin between your neck and shoulder. He was more than content to allow you to nuzzle against him, your slurred words washed warmly over him

Until your meaning became clear, your intent breaking through the steadily growing haze as his mind returned its focus off of your skin...

It made Alastor turn just enough to hide his face in the crook of your neck, as though afraid of the tell-tale smile blooming across his features. 

Whether you knew the full weight of your choice of words or not - your whispered vow to be his; now, for him to be yours - cemented your fate along with his more than any wedding ring or pretty white dress ever could...

Stirred then to action by the warmth spreading in his chest at the thoughts (plans, _schemes_ ) that came to mind, Alastor moved gracefully to roll you both. 

You ended up laid out flat on your back, the lack of pillows on the bed from your earlier rude awakening meaning you had to angle your head slightly to keep Alastor in your line of sight; he settled between your thighs, a soft sigh of contentment escaping him as he came to rest his chin in the valley of your breasts, smug grin on his lips and a glint in his dark eyes. 

"You're mine," a finger came to trace an invisible pattern just to the bottom left of your sternum, same as before. "I'm yours," the corner of his grin twitched upwards, his finger running down until he reached your belly button. 

Alastor laid his palm here, shifting his face so he could trace his lips over the swell of one breast, his eyes drifting shut.

"And what's mine is yours, and what's yours is _mine_."

Alastor cracked one eye open, giving you a quick look.

"Deal?" The impish curve to his grin was back, the moment of sentimentality fading slightly.

The warmth that flooded through you in the moment, perhaps spurred on by your shifting hormones to better support your early-pregnancy, nearly made you choke on your breath. 

Your breath wavered slightly at the sight of him alone, a feat that no other man had ever accomplished, and yet he did it without a bat of his eyes. You could get lost in the daydream of him for the rest of eternity, and you would be nothing less than content. 

“You’re so beautiful…” you whispered softly, just beneath your breath. Your eyes were hooded in your own self-indulgent tenderness. Even the impish smile that should have declared the potential danger that hid beneath the veil of his outwardly appearances, only made you feel that much more emotional. He was your own personal Aphrodite. 

And you wouldn’t trade him for the world.

Amidst your own imagination, you gently pressed your palm against his right cheek, your thumb coming to stroke the warm flesh there. You didn’t need to say ‘deal’ in response - he already knew; or so you hoped. He was forever yours, and you were his… for eternité, or whatever that word was that he had said.

Alastor shifted so he could press his cheek into the touch of your palm, immediately hungry for more - not that he would ever admit to being so touch starved. 

His eyes fluttered shut, more than happy to simply lie there and continue to accept your gentle affection. Your body was warm beneath his, your curves delicately soft; Alastor almost thought of drifting off to sleep, but knowing that time was steadily slipping away, found he desired nothing more than to spend a little longer with you.

After a few moments, the man moved his head just enough to trace his lips over the pulse point in your wrist. He cooed your name, his breath hitting some of the saliva his kisses left; the tiny hairs on your arm stood straight, goosebumps rippling along your skin at Alastor’s touch. 

“I love you…” you murmured softly. 

Just as he had before when you had spoken those words aloud, Alastor froze slightly, the muscles in his face tensing under your hand as he clenched and then unclenched his jaw. 

"Darling…" he trailed off, mind racing to his whispered confession only the night before. It was clear now you hadn't heard him, and while some part of him was pleased with that knowledge, it was becoming abundantly clear that at some point he would have to be honest with you…

"I was-“

“Al, if I make you uncomfortable saying it-”

Truth was, you had noticed, rather _felt_ the tension in his jaw, saw how he froze each time you said it, and immediately your mind ventured to the worst possible outcome. 

Craning your head forward - good god did you wish you had those pillows back - you attempted to lead your hand beneath his chin and raise it off of you to lead him to your face. Just because you adored him, didn’t mean you wanted to force him to do the same. You two were stuck with each other, and you were almost positive that within the next sixty years he would say it; or at least be able to return your affections.

But if this wasn’t love, what was? 

You pressed your lips gently, almost hesitantly, to his own. “We can forget I ever did. Won’t do it again,” your whispered softly, a secret only for the two of you. Your eyes closed as you ran your nose against his. He was your past, present, and future; and that would never change.“Not until you want me to…” For him, you would do anything.

Alastor hesitated, his mind suddenly a jumbled mess of racing thoughts he couldn't quite seem to grasp. 

He was aware of your continued affections; your touch was at least enough to keep him grounded, helping to keep him in the present moment, in spite of his warring thoughts - 

(to keep the rising _urge_ \- something that if he allowed to surface may not be soothed by your presence alone- manageable). 

In short, the man was stumped. 

He had never felt any sort of physical attraction or even affection for another, nor had he ever paid the need to do so much mind...life was short and there was too much to explore and experience to settle down as society dictated.

And while he was growing certain he would be able to continue on his path of growing his audience for a career in radio...his other plans had taken a direct back seat to the excitement and new changes you brought. Which, Alastor knew, would need to be addressed soon...

After all, he was a man of morals, even if they did bypass what normalcy expected.

For although he undoubtedly held affection for you, Alastor found he couldn't necessarily tell you this, not while he was hiding such a large part of his own life. 

All that aside, one thing remained and that was the incessant need to keep you close, keep you by his side. In time, Alastor hoped he would be able to verbally express the mix of emotions he was grappling with. In the meantime, he would resort to using physical affection to express himself, taking comfort in the concrete intent behind such actions. That, at the very least, was something he could come to terms with. 

And, deep down, he knew that if you tried to change your mind he would simply have to help you set your priorities straight… no matter the means. 

Therefore, it was with mounting urgency that Alastor pressed his lips to yours, hoping that while he may not have the means of telling you the same, that you at least understood he meant to be a permanent fixture of your life. 

You knew what love felt like - and this was as close as it got to it without physically uttering it. Your eyes fluttered closed at the contact, a small breath escaping your slightly crushed nose tip as you returned the affection; lips molding into his as a plethora of butterflies erupted in your belly.

If only he could feel what he did to you, how easy, how _lovely_ it all would be to finally be able to express it when you didn’t have the gusto to verbally confront him; but in moments like these, all you felt was him. How his lips felt upon you, the weight of his body over your own, how his calloused hands felt. 

Even in simple moments like these, you wanted to make them last forever. 

Just as you were about to say something, you were cut off by a kiss, and it became obvious that your attempts at speaking were going to be ill-fated; so you did what you knew best, heated chills running up your body as your eyes once again closed to drown in the onslaught of all of his affections. 

Your hands rose then, just as your head leaned back to lay upon the mattress (you wished he would get a god damned pillow off the ground) to toy at the bottoms of his shirt; your right leg raising to rest upon his clothed lower back, and, sported with your soft kisses, you weren’t sure how else to get across ‘ _I want you’_ , other than that.

Alastor felt you shift, felt you respond to his kisses; deep inside, the flame that had been smouldering flickered and bloomed to life, seeming to warm him from the inside out. 

His urgency grew, and he soon moved so he could fully press you into the mattress, moving so he could better keep contact with your mouth, coming to hover over you while braced on his elbows.

Despite the force behind his movement, Alastor couldn't deny the sense of relief that flooded his system; it was apparent even to his knowledge (or lack thereof) that you understood what he was trying to convey, and it only fueled his rising, overwhelming need to have more of you. 

Alastor's lips melded perfectly to yours, his arms moving his weight to his forearms so that he somehow managed to be even closer to you; his long limbs allowed him to reach one hand to your hair, so he could sink his fingers into your tresses. 

His other reached to stroke the soft skin over your ribs, the ticklish sensation causing a ripple of goosebumps to travel over you. He took a brief moment to ease back, lips still ghosting over your as you both greedily took in breaths of fresh oxygen. 

Unable to help himself, Alastor gave a nip to your bottom lip, his own mouth curving into his tell-tale smile. 

"Quite alright, sweetheart." Alastor squashed his nose to yours, his words puffing over your lower face. 

He hesitated slightly again, before some strange attentive look crossed his features. When he spoke next, his voice was an octave lower, "Have patience with me, darling… but trust me when I say, I want no other but you." 

The emotion, god the _emotions_ that flooded through your body in that moment made you want to combust into a million little pieces. Your chest felt constricted, it took a bit more to breathe, and you couldn’t help but suddenly begin to blink away the blurriness in your eyes; although, it probably wouldn’t have been able to be noticed unless he pulled away further than a few centimeters. You could still very well feel the phantom of his lips over yours, the pressure, the softness.

_His love._

You tilted your head up slightly to press your lips to his again, too intoxicated with his kiss to offer him the chance to go too far. 

You could stay like this for forever and a day, without anything inherently sexual - to you, it was a reminder that he was there, that this was for real, and not some sick fever dream. Your hand came to rest against the side of his neck, perhaps just to feel the heated flesh there; your thumb coming to caress just beneath his jaw. 

“Yours...” you whispered softly, nuzzling your nose against his in tandem to your words. There was nothing more painful than saying something you so desperately wanted to hear, and have it not be true. Slowly, you lowered your hands to begin to unbutton his shirt, wrinkles and creases already beginning to form in the fabric from the physical touches. 

You hesitated, lips ghosting over his; pressing in small patterns to lead him back into the high that you both chased after together. _You would wait for him._ The unspoken words were met with a deep blush that was distinct against your complexion. The effect this man had on you was astronomical and it both pissed you off and made you never want it to go away.

This time - while you were beginning to come to terms with the fact that while the two of you were learning as you went, you still had to explicitly tell him exactly what you wanted him to do - you hoped that your physical affection was enough to get the point across; you still were pretty much a ball of emotion at this point, and you didn’t really trust your voice. 

Alastor pulled back just slightly at your touch to his clothing, so he could make proper eye contact with you. His jaw clenched and then unclenched, although by now you had learned it often meant he was milling over some thought rather than it necessarily being a bad thing. 

His eyes moved to trace over the lines and edges of your face, like he was taking a moment to just memorize you. If he had been searching for something in the contours of your features or the look in your eye, he must have been pleased with what he saw there; his mouth quirked softly and his dark eyes crinkled all too charmingly. 

Cooing your name, Alastor shifted to fill the space he had temporarily given, his mouth surging against yours again, his left hand coming to rest in your hair. 

This kiss was slower than the ones he had gifted you before. The sense of rush had become less forceful; rather than aggressively stealing your breath away, Alastor's lips moved against yours in a way that gently stoked the fire in your belly to life. 

A soft sigh escaped through your nose as he pressed into you, your chin tilting up to press yourself closed to him with each kiss you offered him; a small noise left your throat, although you weren’t entirely aware of it, you would have come to the conclusion that it was something similar to contentment. _No one would be able to love you like he could._

Your leg, which had been hiked up slightly, came to rest again; your hands blindly continuing the slow unbuttoning of his shirt. There was something different about this time, or so you were beginning to suspect (although it could have been your blatant hope, too); a tenderness to what once was bruising, chasing a deep and heavy set emotion that he had not yet uttered. 

Whether or not those three words would be something that he would grow to accept himself, or conceal and suffocate in, was something that you would eventually have to face. But for the moment, you were content in pressing your lips against his, chills running up your spine and spreading a flurry of goosebumps across your skin; a pang of white hot emotional desire. 

When you were unable to unbutton his shirt further due to the positioning of yourself and the size differentiation (albeit there was only one or two left), you ran your hands up his abdomen and felt the quiver of his muscles under your rather hesitant touch. _Making love_ was not something that had previously existed between the two of you, and you were a bit nervous despite knowing that you would be perfectly fine. 

It was the emotional attachment to it that made you nervous for _him._ Sexual intercourse between the two of you had always held a roughness or playfulness to it - but this, you were beginning to suspect, was serious. It was a show of trust, but most importantly, a display of affection that he could not will himself to say; and to you, it was what made each passing second special. 

Despite being bare from the waist-down, you still sported the shirt he had given you (you had stolen), and so with one of your hands, you gave him a gentle push to his chest; “Shirt off?” Your voice was slurred, soft, a pant to your tone as you caught your breath - even as lovely as his kisses had been, he had the tendency to steal your breath away. It took you a second to realize that your words had come out a bit drunken, but Alastor was a smart man (sometimes).

Desperately touch-starved as he was, Alastor swiftly sat back on his knees at your insistence, and you watched with hooded eyes as he quickly shrugged his shirt off, the last few remaining buttons popping off as a hint of his usual impatience seeped through. Once he was bare, Alastor offered you a hand; when you moved just a little too slow for his liking, his hand came to land around your wrist and you were pulled into an upright sitting position. 

As though to silently apologize for his moment of recklessness, Alastor traced his nose along the length of your own, lips ghosting over yours. Both of his large, warm hands came to rest on your shoulders, the material of your (his) shirt bunched under his fingertips. When he received no signs of hesitation from you, he moved to gently push the clothing down and off your arms, tossing it unceremoniously over his shoulder. 

“Patience.” You snorted. “What is that?” You couldn’t help your sarcastic humor slip through at that moment, mocking him in as best of a macho-man voice as you could alter your tone. Although you were quickly silenced by the sight of him alone; your stupid grin fading into a more nervous one (although the reason remained wholly unknown to you).

Alastor caught sight of your smile slipping, his ability to read body language serving him well in the moment; his eyes narrowed playfully, although he felt an odd rush of pride at the source of your wit. It was only fitting, after all, that he paired with someone so delightfully wicked as well!

“Hush, darling.” He murmured, eyes taking a moment to trail over your form as you sat in front of him, on full display. 

Some part of him (one he would never admit to) was fully masculine and his mind went blank for a brief moment as the full effect of your exposed flesh hit him. His eyes followed the delicate swell of your breasts to drop and count the contours of your ribcage (times were hard for _everyone_ , after all) to the rounded curve of your hips. 

You had moved to sit criss-cross-applesauce, fidgeting in your moment of nervousness earlier and resorting to the most comfortable position given what his attention was demanding from you; Alastor’s eyes traveled over the plane of your stomach, dipping to trail over the glimpse of your thighs on offer, before they snapped back to just below your belly button. 

He was staring. 

Why was he staring?

“What… What is it?” You didn’t want to look down, a sudden pang of anxiety ripping through you. 

Alastor swallowed hard, his adam’s apple bobbing; his teeth came to snag his bottom lip, although the look on his face was suddenly so foreign and new you weren’t exactly sure _what_ the fuck he was possibly thinking. Then again, you never did.

He couldn’t bring himself to look away and meet your eye, his pulse suddenly ringing in his ears. He was immediately caught up in some warring emotions, torn between what may have been some left over primordial instinct to _flee_ and the rising sense of pride that was feeding his ego - Alastor was effectively mute. 

Finally, you let your eyes fall down to where you guessed his own were trained on, and half of you was expecting to have some sort of god damn demon alien puncturing through your stomach. But all that you saw was something that made _you_ sigh, perhaps a bit out of surprise and some other emotion that you weren’t familiar with either. But unlike Alastor, you couldn’t run away from it. 

You hadn’t noticed it before, perhaps caught up in the rush of everything you had experienced in the last day or so, or perhaps it was just the combination of finally nourishing yourself with a good meal and some quality rest - you ran your hand down from your belly button to the top of your pelvis, the sudden instinctual spike of nerves cementing that fact that you were able to feel the slight swell that had appeared there. 

So, consider the sexy times paused for a second.

You took a heavy inhale, your eyebrows furrowed in the midst of your thoughts. If this was actually a sign of your pregnancy and not you just putting on a bit more weight (because good lord did _everyone_ need to), you were thoroughly stumped. With a hesitant glance, you looked up to Alastor then. 

“Al,” you mumbled, repositioning yourself so that you could meet his eyes. Your hand, originally on your stomach, came up to reach towards his cheek. “It’s okay…” 

The only sign you received that Alastor had heard you, was the slight flaring of his nostrils as your hand made contact with his skin. 

His eyes were wide, although his left temple seemed to have developed an odd twitch to it. You bit your lower lip to stifle the rather absurd giggle that threatened to bubble up from your chest; you knew this look to mean the man was doing Serious Thinking™. You had been patient with him this long, a little while longer wouldn’t hurt…

Your attention was brought back to the present sharply, when his palm met with the slightly raised skin of your lower belly; his dark eyes had moved down and although they were half-lidded, you knew he was staring at where the faint hint of a bump rested. 

Alastor murmured your name, a questioning lilt to it despite the fact that he was trying rather hard not to give into his first impulse to simply bolt - admittedly, the thought of the pregnancy had been, as with most of his plans, terribly _exciting_. Now, faced with what may have been the first physical sign (aside from your morning sickness) that you two had, in fact, successfully created a life together, Alastor could feel the prickling of nerves along his spine, his body physically reacting to the rush of stress. 

He hoped, between the feel of your skin under his hand and perhaps even your voice, you would be able to help bring him down and ground him once more. 

There was a long moment, admittedly, where you just observed him. 

You were vaguely uncertain on what would be his following move; and god, while you were also scared shitless, someone had to wear the pants in the relationship. You both had known, you had made _plans_ to secure your future together, and you felt (although unbeknownst to you, it was solely triggered by your rapidly changing hormones) a sense of annoyance flood through you. 

But just as quickly as it had come, it fizzled out until you were left exactly how you had been only a few moments ago. Undoubtedly, it would grow exhausting, but for now, you were barely aware. Moving to sit up then, you sat upon your knees and, leaning up, moved your one hand from his face to rest both of them over his shoulders in your attempt to practically bear hug him. It happened so fast that you could feel your own breath leave you from your own actions.

“Alastor…” you whispered, a coo amongst your wavering breath as a swell of fear manifested in you; and so you buried your face into the side of his neck, just as he did, time and time again. 

At the feel of your breath washing over the column of his neck, Alastor seemed to stir back to life; his hand was still trapped between the two of you, squished there in spite of your rapid movement. His fingers flexed, as though testing the supple give of your flesh (although he was certainly _not_ knowledgeable enough to know the difference; the action itself was soothing).

“Well now,” Alastor’s voice was that same low octave as before, one you were quickly coming to associate with his more sentimental moments. “Look at you, sweetheart.” His fingers twitched again, this time his hand managing to manoeuvre enough so that he could cup his hand to the small bump. 

An almost overwhelming sense of paternal pride swept over him, and he could’t stop himself from burying his face in your neck to mirror your own self-conscious actions. 

You pressed closer to him in that moment, as if you wanted nothing more than to simply co-exist as one entity. It was frightening, _terrifying_ to think that you carried another life, and while you had known and been very well aware of it, in fact, you had played it as a victim card _because_ you were scared; but such things were a reality, and the two of you would have to face it. 

The emotion you had felt earlier suddenly reached a climax, and you felt the dam break within your body, tears springing from your eyes and staining his neck as you gripped him tighter as if you were afraid that if you let go, he would disappear.

You were _petrified,_ and while you tried to appear tough, you were left grasping at straws. The only maternal figure you had in your life was Maggie, and you had only known the sweet woman for a day and a half, plus the memory of your own mother. But she was not someone you could ask for guidance.

It wasn’t that you were even inherently sad - you were _happy_ , excited even! But the surprise of it all, the fact that you had no warning, and the fear that was pushed upon you at the moment you had seen his emotionless face was a bit too much in your delicate emotional state.

At the first feel of your hot tears against him, Alastor shifted his arms so he could wrap both of them around you, his lean but strong grip cradling you to him; one hand came to rest at the nape of your neck, fingers carding through the tresses there. He crooned your name, his nose coming to trace the shell of one ear. 

“Come now, darling,” His voice was soft, as though he was afraid of startling you and only adding to your emotional distress. “Chin up…” He seemed to waver, uncertain if your tears were from sadness or something else all together. “I meant what I said earlier, we’re in this together, doll.” 

You were confused with your emotional turmoil, mostly because you _weren’t_ even sad; but crying made you feel sad, and of course, that made you cry even harder. Some part of you was aware of the fact that you probably looked pretty helpless (hopeless) at this point, far past the point of return to give you some clear understanding that this wasn’t _you._

_This_ was pregnancy. 

But the other half just wanted to keep crying and hold him closer and closer still. It was only when he actually began to talk to you did you manage to settle your sobs to hiccups, and from that, shaky breaths. “Please don’t leave me…” You managed to croak out, despite the fact that he had very clearly said it over and over and over and, what was that? Over again?

Yes.

Alastor clicked his tongue, although he was surprised to find no sharp spike of irritation followed your words. Normally, your habit of seeking reassurance (although who was he to truly judge) often gave him the urge to roll his eyes at your oftentimes excessive tenderness towards certain topics; however, he was beginning to come to terms that you would be facing a lot of changes, most of them rather unpleasant, and that he ought to have some modicum of patience - to the best of his ability.

His hands came to cup behind both your ears, so he could easily tilt your face to meet his. Alastor traced his lips over yours, his breath fanning warmly over you. 

“ _Never_.” He breathed, before finally pressing his mouth properly to yours, hoping once more that his actions would speak more clearly than he was able to. 

You could taste the saltiness of your own tears against your lips when you opened them slightly to better press against his; a sense of comfort being offered to you when you went limp in his hold. He was holding you, tilting you to face him properly, and that was enough for you to begin to _finally_ realize that you both were each other’s foundations. Without the other, one would crumble and become a pile of ash.

The intensity of your shifting emotions was easy to exhaust you, and so for perhaps the first time, you gave yourself up to him completely. “Please…” you whispered (correction: _whined)_ when you were allotted air. “I just wanna be yours…” 

For forever and a day. 

Your plea was not lost on Alastor; if anything, your whispered words, coupled with the slack weight of your form against his, only spurred the feeling of protectiveness that had been growing in the pit of his chest. His hands still cradled your jaw, and he took a moment to pepper your face with gentle, close-mouthed kisses; your eyelids, the curve of your cheek bone, even pressing a kiss to the cupid’s bow of your upper lip before he ghosted his mouth against yours. 

“On the bed, darling, there’s a good girl…” Alastor stepped back from you, granting you enough room to move but still allowing him to be close enough to support your lax weight, his hands dropping from your head to grasp your elbows. His eyes drifted to said bed, noting the rumpled sheets; one corner had been rucked up over the course of the early morning hours. 

He hummed absent mindedly; without waiting to see if you would follow through on his request or not, Alastor moved away from you then to scoop up the pillows he had thrown. He went back to the bed and arranged them properly, fiddling with them perhaps a little more than was necessary. 

Once he had them propped and fluffed up, he turned to you with a suspiciously proud glint in his eye, as though he was some wild creature, some master nest-builder, and not in fact, a (mostly) naked radio host standing in front of you. 

Despite the utter exhaustion that had settled in your bones, your wit and snark were always on deck and waiting to be called into action - 

“Gold star, Al.” You simpered at him, unable to help yourself from teasing him, your small grin still crinkling the corners of your eyes. 

Alastor rolled his eyes at you, although the curve of his grin betrayed his own amusement; your ability to infuse joviality in even the most serious of moments was yet another aspect of why you _must_ be his…

Unable to keep his hands to himself for much longer, Alastor moved to sweep you into his arms, his nose squashing against yours as he shifted you up; before you could do much more than wrap your arms around his neck to try and keep your balance, the man had you laid out and on the mountain of pillows like some prized possession (which, to his mind, you most certainly were). 

The pillows were soft and all too cozy, and you allowed yourself to sink back into their comfort, watching with hooded eyes as Alastor crawled on the bed himself, coming to loom over you in a way that made a spark of heat flame in your core (despite the fact you felt half compelled to doze again).

His nose pressed to yours again, the loaded emotions that had come to be symbolized by such a simple action caused your heart to flutter madly, your lips curving in a smile to match his own. Alastor gave you a quick, rather chaste kiss before shifting back enough to sit on his knees again. He trailed his eyes over your form, graceful and soft curves on full display now that he had shed you of your remaining clothing. 

His gaze lingered on the soft pouch that had formed just below your belly button; a streak of heat flamed in his belly at the sight, some instinctual burst of pride fueling his desire to have you again. It was barely noticeable, given how early your pregnancy truly still was, but it was undeniable: where once your tummy had been flat, there was a swell, the muscles there rounded slightly. 

Alastor laid his hand there again, as though to cement the physical evidence in his mind, before he moved to run his hand back up along your belly, up your sternum and the delicate column of your throat to your chin, where one finger came to prop your face up so he could lean in and kiss you once more; a soft, gentle press of his lips to yours, his bottom lip cradling your own, before he pulled away so he could settle on top of you. 

He settled between the gap of your thighs, although he kept most of his weight on his elbows as he hovered over you, unwilling to rest too completely against you now that the bump had made its presence known. 

“Comfy, sweetheart?” Although his tone was light and airy as it normally was, his deep octave (voice changing as his desire grew) made you shiver deliciously under his attention.

Your eyes fluttered closed as you tilted your head up to ghost your lips across his; far too intoxicated by his presence alone to do much else than fall deeper and deeper still into that beautiful abyss of desire. Your right leg rose to gently caress whatever you could - which just so happened to be, in this moment, his side. Talk was cheap, and you answered him to the best of your ability by trying to press yourself closer to him, but alas, you, at this moment, were pinned down. 

“Yes,” a soft whisper then. 

Alastor hummed, the sound pleasant as it rumbled through his chest. He gifted you another quick kiss, before moving to run his hands along your arms. When he reached your wrists where they were currently tucked along your sides, his own fingers wrapped around them and gently urged you to allow him to place them back around the sides of your face. 

He murmured a soft, “good girl,” hands moving back down over your elbows and forearms until he could reach the ticklish spots over your sides, his movement easy and slow as though he was simply mapping the (changing) contours of your body. 

Alastor pressed a kiss to the top of your clavicle, mouth dragging over an inch to another spot, as if he couldn’t quite bring himself to break full contact with you despite his desire to explore your form. 

You hadn’t yet given up full control to him before, and while part of him desperately wanting to exploit that trust and see how far he could push your sudden submissiveness, the soft swell of your belly was clear in his mind’s eye - for the first time that he could recall, Alastor simply wanted to _feel_ what you offered, gifting you with his undivided attention. 

Another kiss was placed on the crook of your shoulder, where the skin met your neck. One hand drifted lazily to cup your right breast, nimble fingers trailing tantalizingly slow over the nipple which had pebbled at his first touch. You gave a breathy sigh in response, feeling the muscles in your body (somehow) relax even more, feeling as though you were nothing but a puddle of goo under his ministrations. 

Alastor’s mouth continued on its path of exploration, stopping to drop a kiss to the inside of your elbow before he jumped back to your collarbone; a slight nip to the slightly protruding bone there was enough to tame the darker side of his urges for the time, and he sought to soothe the sting with a swipe of his warm tongue. 

It was different than when he nipped your lip; that was something you were beginning to become used to, but to your collarbone? It sparked a memory from one of the previous times, or perhaps even the _first time_ to where he had legitimately bit your neck. The sharp pain was quickly eased away, and you tilted your head slightly to watch his movements with a particular curiosity. “You have a thing for biting.” You whispered, perhaps more to yourself than to him. 

You brought a hand up then to try to run your fingers through his hair, arching your spine slightly to get a bit more contact with his body against yours which now hovered above yours. Catching yourself slipping in your control, you let out a soft sigh and returned to your position that you had been in beforehand. 

Alastor had pulled back just enough to watch your face as you had arched your back, his dark eyes hooded and blazing with some hint of _something_ you had yet to see in him. It made the _twin_ flame of desire that had been flickering in your gut blossom, the first tell-tell signs of your own need beginning to make itself known in the growing beat of your heart and the (pretty) blush that was making its way across your face. 

He quirked his mouth, one corner all too charmingly upturned and making him look every ounce the scoundrel he was, “You are a rather delicious morsel, darling.” He nipped the tip of your nose as gently as possible, happy to see your eyes widen slightly. “I’m a simple man, after all…” 

Your eyes met his own, a small smile finding its way upon your own lips. “Well,” you snickered, “I’m glad I can…” you leaned up and ghosted your lips over his, your eyes closing to flutter your eyelashes against his, “Feed your appetite.” 

There was a sudden expulsion of breath against your lips as Alastor chuckled, your unintended wit striking him in a way you, of course, were unaware of. His smirk only grew, although he said nothing more other than to shift his face away to begin peppering your chest with kisses again. 

Alastor returned his attention back to your other breast, taking the time to trail his mouth over the soft swell of the side before landing a hot, open-mouthed kiss to that nipple; his other hand had drifted back to your sides, mapping the curves until he reached your hips. 

After a slight pause, in which he moved his lips to the other side of your chest, Alastor managed to wiggle his hand under your hip, so that he could press your lower half upwards and into his own hips; there, the evidence of his own arousal was clear, the slight intimate contact between your unclothed lower half and the simple material of his slacks was not enough to hide the straining, hard length of him contained there. 

He gave a slow roll of his hips, his breath hissing past his teeth at the sensitive feeling, although Alastor prided himself on managing to keep his eyes locked on your face, watching to read your reactions.

And oh boy, were there reactions.

Your fingers twitched slightly, curling into your palms as you shifted to better feel him even through the clothing, although you were mostly dependent on him holding you up to him. That simple blush immediately began to darken against your cherub cheeks, the tips of your ears growing warm (although it wasn’t particularly noticeable), and your neck developing that familiar hue. But still, you managed to not try to reach for him after catching yourself the first time.

You closed your eyes, perhaps a bit caught in your own little world of imagination. You could feel the arousal pulse in your gut, heated chills running up your spine, your lower lip coming between your teeth - because good lord in Heaven did this man make you feel fucking _amazing_ , and he was barely even started.

You were slightly surprised when one of his fingers landed on your lip, as though to soothe it from the pressure of your own teeth. 

Alastor cooed your name, and when you kept your eyes closed despite his best efforts, he simply shifted back enough that his longer legs could help support his own weight, both of his large hands coming to cup just beneath the swell of your bum, pressing you into his core - once again, he relied on the physical proof of his affection to express himself, although Alastor hesitated enough to ensure _this time_ he had your consent before going further.

“Sweetheart...” Alastor crooned, unable to keep his own slim hips from beginning to grind into your own, the sparks of pleasure shooting up his spine at the contact enough to keep him pressed to you for as long as you’d allow. 

“ _Please…”_ You finally mumbled out, attempting to move your _own_ hips against his, but from such a position, it was a bit difficult. You practically whined his name, opening your eyes to meet his through the rim of his glasses. “I want you.”

It was all Alastor needed to hear. He moved quickly yet gently to place your hips back on the bed, easing back and twisting then so he could shimmy off the bed and shed his slacks; some part of him wondered how long you'd actually allow him to continue to hold most of the control (another part of him realized, rather startlingly, that you'd hold some portion of power over him – always) and so he was more than eager to return to you. 

With a final kick of a leg, Alastor managed to shake off the last of his clothing, boxers included. He gave silent thanks for the thought to just go barefoot, as he padded across the floor back to you in record time. 

The sinewy muscles in his shoulders rolled as he reached to slink into the bed – over you – and you couldn't keep your eyes from tracing the outline of the corded muscles in his arms. You didn't look away until he touched the tip of his nose to yours, drawing your attention back to him. 

With a wink, Alastor removed his glasses, placing them neatly on his bedside table; partly so he could nuzzle the soft skin at the valley of your breasts, and also partly because he was running short on replacements and your hormonal mood swings meant nothing was safe. 

It also meant there was nothing in between him and your form. 

And so, without much hesitation, Alastor returned to his previous task, alternating between soft, open-mouthed kisses and suckling on different spots of your skin. He hummed as he went, his eyes closed almost dreamily as he pressed a kiss to the tip of your sternum, and then to each side of your rib cage. He left the comfort of your contact enough to reposition himself, so he was better able to kiss over the points of your hip bones before he ran his nose to your belly button. 

Alastor paused, murmuring your name as though he was praying under his breath. His dark eyes opened and from your propped position on his pillows, he was able to make eye contact with you. His jaw worked as though he was on the verge of speaking, before a twitch moved over his features, and you watched as his customary grin replaced it just as quickly. 

As much as it thrilled you to see Alastor beginning to drop the semblance of the mask he always insisted on wearing around others, the look in his eye now turned your insides to jelly. 

The man hiked one of your legs over his shoulder, his hands coming to settle over your hips as he dipped his head and pressed a delicate kiss to the very top of your folds. He moved so your leg took a bit of his weight, which only served to open you up more for him. 

The very first touch of his mouth against your heated core made a low keening noise bubble up from your throat, your neck arching back into the comfort of the pillows, your eyes fluttering closed as his ministrations washed over you.

Where Alastor had been almost too eager, bruising in his passion in _tasting_ you before, this time he seemed all too happy to take his time, savouring the feel of you like this. Your slick quickly gathered on his mouth, his tongue darting to catch it before he returned to suckling on your pearl of nerves, which had grown swollen and oversensitive with his attention. His mouth moved with some kind of practised ease now; it was clear as he made to rub his nose against your clit, mouth now making lewd sounds against your folds, that Alastor was a quick learner (something you would have to praise him for later, if you remembered).

Although you would have happily just laid there forever and allowed the man to have his fill - the wave of pleasure building in your belly made that an easy choice – Alastor pulled away sooner than you expected. 

You wondered briefly if the slight tremble that had begin to develop in your thighs had been a giveaway that you were close already to your release and if that meant he was going to make you wait - when Alastor shifted again and, after encouraging your legs to wrap around his trim waist, moved until he was resting over you, his throbbing cock nudging against your slick heat. 

The man paused again; this time to coo your name and grant you another kiss, this one too was drawn out, slow, and surprisingly tender. When he met no resistance, other than the feel of your lips surging back against his, Alastor canted his hips upwards just enough to press the tip of his length into your heat. 

A sharp hiss of breath escaped him, as he finally was able to have a little bit of relief from his own stimulation; you felt it wash over some of the saliva that stuck to your lips, the air chilling it slightly. Alastor's nose came to fit to one side of yours, slotting his mouth against yours from a different angle, his tongue sweeping the cavity of your own. 

When Alastor pulled back (and he only did so when it was clear both of you would need oxygen soon), you thought you heard him whisper a word that sounded startlingly like “... _yours_...” before he moved forwards and, in the next instant, tenderly sank fully into your waiting warmth, burying himself to the hilt.

The sudden pressure and fullness that you felt in that moment was almost too much; and yes, while you two had sexual intercourse a handful of times, you still had to adjust every single time he first entered you; to say the least, he was proportional, and to the size difference between the two of you, sometimes it even became painful. 

But this time had differentiations that the others didn’t, and perhaps it had to do with your hormones or the fact that you were actually physically changing, but it made the moment that much sweeter. 

Your internal muscles quivered against his intrusion, constricting before relaxing as a soft whine escaped your throat. “Yours…” you managed to parrot back to him, although you weren’t entirely sure if that was what he had said to begin with - it didn’t make it any less true. _Always yours._ “You feel so good,” you whispered, your lips tracing his delicately, swollen from the onslaught of his tender affection. 

Although he hadn’t moved yet, focusing on the feeling of him inside you was enough to ease away the sensation of a _stretch_ and have a minuscule amount of pleasure run up your spine. Leaning back into the pillows slightly, your lips came to kiss the tip of his nose, before you returned to nuzzling it with your own.

Alastor returned your kiss, seemingly always hungry in some form for more of your affection, and gave a gentle roll of his hips, testing to see if your inner muscles would allow him to actually move. When he met little resistance, he merely rocked into you, selfishly allowing himself to enjoy the sensation of being fully engulfed in your wet heat. 

Despite having given up your control, you still longed to just _hold_ him in the seconds that followed, perhaps just to bury your head into his shoulder. “Can I-Mmn, can I hold… you?” Your words were a heated, rushed whisper. 

Suddenly caught up in the moment (although he would never admit it), Alastor met your eye and gave a simple nod, before he came overcome with _everything_ and simply buried his face in your neck once more; his hips had stuttered to a stop, as though waiting for you to touch him before he would continue. 

Your arms immediately wrapped around his neck, careful not to apply too much pressure, but just enough to keep him close to you to the point of you being able to begin to pepper his jaw with kisses, and even going as far as shifting your head to move to his cheek. You had noticed he had a tendency to bury his face into you, but you thought it some subtle quirk than anything serious, but this time you _wanted_ to see him. 

“Why are you hiding?” You cooed softly into his ear.

Alastor muttered something into your skin, still refusing to completely lift his face from its resting place. You thought you briefly caught the words “not used to it…” before you felt him shift just enough to reciprocate the gentle kisses you had pressed to his jaw, his own lips trailing down the column of your neck. 

When he lifted his eyes to meet yours finally, you were surprised to note there was some far off look in them, as though he had closed some secret portion of himself down. 

The grin he gave you was a soft, lop-sided thing that made butterflies burst in your stomach and despite the fact that the two of you were still so intimately connected, you felt a rush of affection for him that existed outside of the physical side of your relationship.

“Look at you…” you murmured his earlier words, “How beautiful...” You weren’t sure how to accurately express your emotions in that moment, and you felt yourself slowly drowning in them. Your right hand came up to root itself in his tresses softly, playing with the strands absentmindedly and curling the wavy lengths of it around your index finger.

Alastor caught your hand with his own and promptly brought it to his lips so he could press a kiss to the back of your knuckles, and then again to the inside of your palm as he turned your hand over, “Perhaps I’m not the only one who needs glasses…” his eyes flicked from yours to land on one of the scars that ran jagged across the skin of his upper arm. 

Alastor had never thought of himself as a beautiful person, society all too happy to tell him that based on the colour of his skin, he was secondary at best…

Your emotional state crested then, and while part of you wished to blame it on the pregnancy hormones no doubt flooding your body, you couldn’t stop the wave of _pity_ that washed over you then, as you took in the sight of his features clouding over more. You were beginning to lose him to the deep recess of his mind; and so using the nature of your current situation, you rolled your hips against his as best as you could, hoping your apparent desire for _him_ and him alone would help bring Alastor back. 

You moved your hands then to cup Alastor’s face, mimicking the comfort he had offered you earlier, your lips dropping gentle kisses to as much of his skin as you could reach given that you were still pilant beneath him. Another roll of your hips, coupled with the heel of your left foot coming to nudge the small of his back, helped stirr him enough that his own hips began to move into you once more. 

You began to kiss him earnestly now, lips molding to fill the space of his own; his rocking motion was steadily becoming stronger, his slim hips beginning to thrust against you with a little more feverence. 

You sighed his name, your head moving back to lounge on the pillows, your upper half arching slightly off the bed top as Alastor reached to grip one leg of yours, placing it a little higher on his back so that he could plunge into you at a deeper angle. 

Although Alastor’s pace remained steady and surprisingly slow given how wound up the two of you were quickly coming, it was undeniable that his actions were causing the flame of pleasure in your belly to begin to grow, your hands dropping from his face then to grip his shoulders; his name fell from your lips again, just as he moved to swallow your words in a kiss. 

And if he hadn’t, it would have undoubtedly been ‘ _I love you’._

Alastor’s other hand drifted in between the two of you, until it found your swollen clit; his fingers came to roll over it, causing a sudden spike of pleasure to shoot up your spine, a gasp tumbling from you despite the fact he was still kissing you. His own hips were beginning to stutter against you in their pace, his release steadily climbing towards the edge that would tip him over; but Alastor was determined to take you with him. 

Your breath was wavering between each short breath as your pleasure was held back to ensure that you met the end together; “Cum,” you whispered feverishly against his lips.

Your only response was a grunt from Alastor, although whether it was your choice of words or simply the way the use of his full name sounded coming from you, he wasn’t too sure; all the man could focus on in that moment was the feel of you around him, your inner muscles squeezing and massaging him as he continued to move against you. 

From the pit of pressure growing in his belly, Alastor was certain he would be able to meet your request; his fingers started to move against your clit with a steady pace, hoping it would be enough to help pitch you over the edge into your own release as he quickly lost himself in the overwhelming physicality of the moment. His pleasure crested and peaked, his hips shuddering against yours, a soft groan falling from him as he crushed you closer to him. 

When you felt him reach his climax, you followed after him, spiraling down as he wrapped you in his warm embrace that you wouldn’t trade for the world. A moan escaped you, perhaps a bit louder now that you were safe from anyone else hearing you but him, your back arching off of the bed as your neck corded up amidst your pleasure - but it didn’t last long enough. 

It never did. 

But that small slice of heaven that he offered you was enough for your body to completely go lax, your wits already five feet out the door when you came down from your high and slowly but surely moved yourself until you remained where you had been previously. Multiple breaths escaped you as you panted, a sheen of sweat on your forehead as you reached forward before he undoubtedly broke the silence, and crushed your lips to his, smushing your nose against his. 

_You loved him._

When you finally pulled away, only to brush your lips against his, your cheeks grew warm from a _different_ origin; emotion. “You _are_ beautiful,” you brought your hands to cup his face. “You are so _beautiful,”_ you whispered, pressing your lips to his over and over again. “Our child,” tears sprung to your eyes then, “will be beautiful, do you hear me?” 

Alastor gave another soft grunt, although this time it sounded less dismissive and more like he was struggling to verbalize his thoughts. He quickly surged his mouth against yours, his pulse beating steadily in his ears although he wasn’t so sure he could blame it on your vigorous activity shared together. The warmth that had spread in his chest earlier was back, and while the feeling was wholly unfamiliar still, he was becoming to associate it with _you_ in general. 

When Alastor finally broke away from you, his breath washing over your face as he panted lightly still, he moved just enough to lean over and grope his bedside table until he came away with his glasses; he returned them to their rightful place, and he blinked a few times to bring you into focus. Once he did, his features lit up with his usual charming smile. 

“I don’t doubt that for a second, sweetheart,” his voice was husky from lack of use, and perhaps a little from the fact that he was still a bit winded. “Not with such a doll for a mother.” 

One of his fingers came to trail lightly over the curve of your cheek, until he abruptly squeezed your cheeks together between his hands and pressed another kiss to your lips, although this one was rather chaste considering you were both still connected. Alastor rolled then, gathering you in his arms so he could tuck you under his chin, his hands coming to rub along the exposed length of your spine. 

You nuzzled into him, falling into a place of contentment with natural ease. “I’m not going to be able to lay on you for much longer,” you admitted softly, although you were more than comfortable to just lounge for as long as the life inside you allowed it. Even your favorite position to sleep in was on your stomach, god damn it. A sigh escaped your slightly parted lips. 

“Or sleep on you…” You drifted off. 

Beneath you, Alastor shifted just enough so he could tangle a hand in your tresses, seeking more of the now familiar comfort you offered just by existing within the same space as him. Within a few moments, his breathing evened and before even he had time to realize it, Alastor followed your descent into sleep. 

Your dreams were nonexistent, and within your own mind, you thought you had only closed your eyes for a few moments, but when you opened them not only were you greeted with the blurry light of _dusk_ , but you were in a completely different position than you had been previously; tucked tightly into Alastor’s side with his arms _tightly_ wrapped around you. 

Like, super tight. 

It brought you to struggle out of his grip, worming out and somehow managing to escape his grasp - although that was a workout and a half for you, goodness gracious. When you sat up, the blankets fell off of your body and you slipped out of the bed. Thankfully, this time, it was still bright enough for you to navigate without nearly tripping and beheading yourself. 

Around the room there were clothes thrown in a variety of different directions, undoubtedly caused by your fiasco with him. However, settled on the bedside table, there was a white dress that you half-mindlessly recalled him bringing from his mother’s room. Thankfully, the woman and you were close in size and stature, so you apparently could fit in it quite easily.

And you did. It fit perfectly, although it was a bit loose around the waist area and was a _bit_ longer than the norm, but you could work this just to get home. Moving towards his drawers, you opened one of the lower ones and pulled out a second pair of boxers, simply because he _ripped_ your underwear.

Rude, right? 

You couldn’t bring yourself to really mind. 

What you did mind, though, was the fact that this man slept like a hibernating bear. “Alastor.” The time read two-thirty, and if you were remembering correctly, he had to not only get you home, but also get to his studio at four. “Al.” Nothing. You poked him in the ribs. “Alastor, you have to get up.” 

Either he was dead or he was ignoring you. No one could ignore the famous rib poking. That hurt like a motherfucker.

Fine then. Clambering over him, you crawled over to the head board, balanced yourself as you stood up, and with a heavy sigh as if you _really_ didn’t want to do this (it was a lie, you absolutely did), you broadly stated: “It is TWO-“ You proceeded to launch yourself down onto him, and from where you had stood on the bed, it would have undoubtedly knocked the breath out of the poor man. 

“-THIRTY! Get up before I make your _tooth-hurty.”_ You couldn’t help the laugh that followed. That was a good one. 

You deserved a pat on the back for that one. 

Alastor’s breath wheezed from his lungs in one swell whoosh, his eyes flying open as soon as your body made contact with his; as light as you were, the height from which you had dropped certainly helped make your point. 

His eyes watering slightly from the force, Alastor awkwardly raised a hand to pat the top of your head, his brain still a bit sluggish with sleep. 

“Hmm?” His tone was thick, his natural accent colouring it. He blinked a few times before adjusting his glasses, his gaze moving from you to blearily squint at the small clock that sat on his dresser. “Darling, it’s 2:30, why didn’t you wake me earlier?” 

You gawked at him. “So you’re telling me…” You leaned up and put your two hands on either side of his head, “That you were seriously sleeping that _entire_ time until I jumped on you?” You moved to crawl over him, sitting on his chest as you leaned down and squinted your eyes at his own. “Why do I find that hard to believe, Mr. Beauchamp?” There was a teasing tone to your voice.

“That is generally what one is doing when one’s eyes are closed, darling, yes…” Alastor narrowed his eyes at you, although his words were just as playful as your own. 

“That was quite the wake up call, regardless.” He quickly pressed his lips to yours, seeking a kiss before you perhaps grew too irate to put up with him and he missed the chance. 

“You wouldn’t be _lying,_ would you?” You mumbled against him, before nipping _his_ lip with a grin. “Either way,” you pressed your lips to his again to soothe the sting that you _knew_ was there, “I know of a better wake-up call, but I don’t think you _deserve_ it.” Just as quickly, you leaned back and sat on him again, sticking out your tongue.

Alastor pressed a hand to his chest rather dramatically, a gasp falling from his lips as you pulled away, although the effect was less than believable given that he was wearing his usual shit-eating grin, “I’m an honest man, darling… an honest man who is going to be very late for his shift…” His eyes darted back to the clock before he turned to tap you on the nose. 

“You’re not late _yet._ ” You tapped _him_ on the nose playfully. “Four, right?” You slipped off of him, the dress pooling back down. “Oh _shit,_ you didn’t even call in late, did you?” You gasped. 

Alastor shook his head, one eyebrow quirked as though telling you this was obvious.

You reached over and flicked him between the eyes. “Dumbass.” 

The man caught your hand just as you went to move it away, his quick reflexes aiding him in the moment. Alastor brought it up to his face as though he meant to kiss it, before he sharply turned your hand over and nipped the inside of your wrist, although far more gently than he may have done in the past. 

You brought your other hand up and flicked him in the forehead a second time. “Two hands, motherfuckerrrr,” you sang, just before you gave him a raspberry; a genuine laugh befalling you. 

In the blink of an eye, Alastor had caught that hand as well and somehow rolled so he could pin you back to the bed, his much larger hands easily pinning you by the forearms. He gave you a rather predatory smile, the dark glint in his eye catching you off guard and yet somehow still managing to make a trickle of desire spike in your core. 

He leaned in as though to properly kiss you, his mouth hovering just above yours as his eyes trailed over your form, the corners crinkling when he noticed you were wearing the dress he had offered you earlier.

“You look good, sweetheart,” he crooned to you, and you were so sure he was going to kiss you that you angled your head up, your own lips reaching for him - 

Alastor promptly disappeared from your line of sight, rolling off you and taking a few long-legged steps to the other side of the room where his clothing had been discarded. He quickly shimmied on a pair of boxers, turning his back to you as he looked for his other items. One sock quickly joined his outfit, although upon closer inspection he noticed the buttons missing from his shirt… 

_Oh hell no,_ you were going to get that kiss one way or another. 

As his back was turned, you slipped off of the bed as silently as you could, and, prowling forward in what you could only describe as a ‘werewolf-type’ move, you walked over to him, and, with a moment to prepare yourself to the best of your absolute ability, you attempted to jump onto his back in a piggy-back like motion. Your arms came to wrap around his shoulders to boost you up, all the while your legs attempted to hook around his waist (although it was a lot more awkward to do such a thing from the opposite direction).

“Gotcha!” 

To his credit, Alastor only stumbled a bit from the impact of you jumping up; his hands dropped the ruined shirt he had still been holding, instead flying to grab your legs and make sure you were secure. 

“While that’s a grand surprise attack, darling, I must insist…” Alastor tried his best to pry your hands from their grip, but you only managed to hold on tighter. He sighed, knowing by now that your own stubbornness matched his own and you would undoubtedly play this card until he gave into your wishes. 

“Smooch me, daddy.” You snorted into his shoulder, unable to help the laughter that nearly made you lose your grip. 

“Forgive me, I’m new to this, doll, but I do believe that requires face to face contact.” Alastor’s tone was lightened, unable to help himself from following you into the brief moment of fun. 

“But then you win,” you pouted. 

There was a slight pause, as though you had somehow miraculously managed to make Alastor’s mind short-circuit, unable to think of a proper response to the bratty nature of your quip. 

“I suppose I could just drop you…” He trailed off, his hands already loosening their grip on your legs. 

“I can hold myself up. I got macho man arms, thank you very much, future husband.” You tightened your grip on him. 

“While that may be true, my darling dame,” his hands moved to land just above the back of your knees. “You also have very ticklish knees.”

And he promptly dug one hand into the soft skin there, a loud ‘NO!’ escaping you as his long, nimble fingers scratched gently against you. 

Your hands lost their grip on his shoulders, your natural instinct made you want to curl in on yourself and yet also draw away from him. One of your legs slipped from its position around his waist, and you both knew it was game over; Alastor managed to man-handle you enough so you ended up bridal style in his arms, his eyes nearly slits from how wide his triumphant grin was. 

“I always win,” He crooned down to you. 

“Challenge accepted.” You grinned back up at him. “You thought this was over? Ha-ha, think again, _loser.”_ You blew a second raspberry at him, even going so far as to make an ‘L’ on your forehead.

“No,” he conceded softly, the sudden change in his voice causing you to blink owlishly up at him. “No, it is far from over.”

And with that, Alastor promptly smooshed his mouth to yours, delighting in the fact that your small gasp of surprise allowed him to deepen the kiss; it was only once the need for air made itself known in the back of his head, did he finally pull away from you, a coy smirk on his face. 

You pressed your nose to his, awkwardly craning your head up to his before pulling away yourself and fumbling around in his grasp. “Okay, you can put me down now and get ready.” See? You were easy to please. 

Perhaps to soothe the sting of having to give in to you so easily, Alastor greedily stole one last kiss from you, although it was quick, before he gently settled you back on your feet. He took a moment to absentmindedly straighten your dress for you, and then returned to sorting through his wardrobe for a shirt that was still intact. 

Needless to say, it didn’t take the two of you long (more so Alastor since you were already practically ready) to head on your way. Without the need the need to say goodbye to Maggie however, you made do with writing a small letter that stated you would be back, signed sincerely with a :).

Ah, simple pleasures. 

When you and Alastor both got off the trolley, you stood in the center of the bustling streets, before grabbing his hand and pulling him off to the side, unfortunately just next to a diner that had a sign that read _‘No Blacks Allowed’_. “I’ll let you know how it goes… y’know, with my dad. Since, I have to tell him. Best be me, y’know?” Your accent slipped through slightly. 

Alastor’s eyes were trained on the sign, although he had tilted his head towards you to show that he was listening. When he did finally look you in the face, you felt another pang of pity to see the clouded look in his eye, as though he had once again closed himself off behind the mask he wore in front of society. 

Upon noticing the sign yourself, you crinkled your nose, frowned, tapped on the window (because god damn were you a petty creature), before moving to yank Alastor down by the tie. You eagerly caught his lips with your own, and hearing the sounds of distress even from the other side of the window, you _knew_ it would be the talk of the town. An interracial relationship? _Disgusting,_ they would claim. 

Some would have cruelly gone far enough to claim that he wasn’t even human; a lower life form. _Alien._

And what did you say to that? You just kissed him harder. 

When you finally broke away from him, Alastor blinked once and then threw his head back, his loud belly laugh echoing along the street despite the fact that there were people milling about. He finally managed to calm himself, and with a quick moment to adjust his tie (the force of your yank had caused it to come loose), he gave you a wink and a tap on the nose with his pointer. 

“Best be off, doll.” he murmured, the grin still on his face although you caught the way his eyes quickly darted to the cafe door, like he was instinctually checking to make sure no one had stepped out to confront you. “I’ll lose my time slot if I’m too late.” 

The grin he gave you then was slightly apologetic, although it looked thoroughly out of place on his handsome, yet devilish features. 

“I’ll make sure Ruth tunes in,” you offered, before you leaned up for the umpteenth time and pressed your lips to his. “ _Beautiful._ ” You whispered, before quickly pulling away and quite literally sprinting down the street towards your house. 

Alastor blinked, watching as you disappeared around the corner, the feel of your lips against his lingering and in spite of how much your intimate relationship had progressed over the time the two of you had spent together, he immediately wanted _more_. With a sigh, he quickly adjusted his tie although it was more out of nerves than the need to straighten it, and then turned on his heel in the direction of the studio; leaving the cafe behind with no more thought.

The moment that you found yourself at your door, you took a heavy, deep inhale, and looked down to your stomach. Through the dress there was no difference; no bump, nothing that would betray your state quite yet, but you still pressed your hand where you _knew_ there was one just behind the fabric.

“It’s now or never…” you mumbled to yourself before letting your hand fall and, just as you opened the door, it was opened from the other side. 

“... Hi daddy.”


	13. The Other Daddy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Posting this a bit earlier than usual due to maintenance!

When the weight of the door (just as you had pushed into it upon turning the knob) was relieved, you stumbled slightly into the entrance of the house. You were instantly met with the smell of a home-cooked meal: red beans and rice; while the rice didn’t have much of a scent, the beans did along with the tell-tale aroma of some far off scented candle. Your velocity was cut short by a familiar, large hand coming to grab at your upper arm, holding you steady until you got your footing.

It was a bit odd to have a home-cooked meal that you didn’t prepare yourself - after your mother had died, you had been forced to learn the common recipes of New Orleans, and you quickly found yourself longing to taste Maggie’s gumbo once again. Subconsciously, you licked your lips in a show of sudden nerves as you met the eye of your father. The man was as every late-fifties man should have appeared, clad in a light blue work-shirt, a cream-colored sweater vest, long pants, and oxfords; all while being tied together with a neat bow tie.

But as you studied his usual stern face (the man was the epitome of a ‘look tough but a genuine family-man that couldn’t hurt a fly’, you quickly came to the conclusion that those dark circles under his eyes  _ hadn’t  _ been there before you had left. A wave of guilt washed through your body then, and before you could really bring yourself to make up some excuse that would undoubtedly just dig your grave six feet deeper, you were yanked into his warm embrace.

And all you could do was melt. 

Your father muttered your name, a questioning lilt to it as though he wasn't quite sure you were actually, truly, back. His arms tightened around you and without hesitation, you squeezed back. You immediately took comfort in the familiar feel of his bear hug and the scent of his cologne (he had been wearing it since you could remember).

A wave of guilt, bitter and heavy, washed over you.

Although your mom had been gone for some time now, you knew how much your father loved her, had cared for her; he hadn't had much in terms of a social or romantic life since, instead of focusing on raising his girls properly and working hard in order to provide for them.

And now, after all, he had given and at times sacrificed for you (and Ruth), you had repaid him by disappearing without much of a trace… your stomach twisted slightly as you wondered if Ruth had kept her end of the bargain.

What had she told him? 

What did he think had happened? 

Just as you were beginning to get lost in your rapidly declining spiral of thoughts, your father pulled back, his hands coming to rest on your shoulders so he could stare at you. His eyes quickly did a once over, like he was checking to make sure you had returned in one piece. 

"Well?" When he spoke, your father's tone was firm but not at all cold or angry - he simply sounded tired. His mouth was set in a firm line, which you knew meant he was sombre, but his relief at seeing you was undeniable in the soft lines of his face.

"What cockamamie shenanigans have you been up to this time?"

You rubbed the back of your neck in hesitance. You couldn’t say that you spent the night with Alastor - because that was a big no-no in this day and age; but you supposed that he would eventually learn the truth one way or another. He had that father’s intuition (was that even a thing?) - he  _ always  _ found out. 

“Oh, you know…” you let out a soft, short laugh. “This and that.” You averted your gaze, bringing your bottom lip between your teeth anxiously. Where was Ruth when you needed her? A heavy breath escaped your lips, before you were suddenly overwhelmed with an emotion that was unfortunately, very familiar to you. Anxiousness.

“I was with Alastor,” you slipped.

Your eyes widened a fraction before you sputtered out: “This morning!” Well, it wasn’t  _ that  _ much of a lie. “I left the house before you woke up, ha-ha, yep, totally.” You were sweating bullets. Sucking through your teeth, you very much looked like the worst liar in the world. You probably were. “Um…” 

You looked down.

“Look! I even got a new dress!” You motioned down to it and did a little twirl; but before he could respond, you shimmied past him, eager to get out of the hallway entrance and make your way towards the kitchen, mostly because you  _ really  _ didn’t want to be cornered. If you were, it was game over for you. 

Except, it wasn’t really a game and more you just prolonging the inevitable. “Ohh, beans and… rice! Is that chicken too? Porkchop?” You leaned over the stove with a feigned curious look. You know, like a liar. 

“Pork, leftover from the dinner you missed last night...” Your father trailed off, having followed you back into the kitchen, all thoughts outside your safe return had fled his mind. 

You had missed dinner, and although it wasn't uncommon for you to be absent from meals given your habit of following your heart instead of your brain; although it was a trait you shared with your sweet mother and he couldn't find it in himself to hold it against you, instead focusing on simply keeping you alive as best he could.

Ruth had sworn up and down that you had come home after all, although your father had no recollection of hearing the door open late and your bed looked suspiciously unrumpled, as though it hadn't been disturbed in some time- 

He'd circle back to the fact that you were off with some young man (no matter the time of day), but first things first...

“You're alright?” Your father placed a hand on your shoulder; you were still bent over the stove as though investigating the food was the most interesting thing possible.

You paused and briefly closed your eyes, saying some silent prayer underneath your breath before you reopened them and shot him your best smile. “Yes, daddy, I’m alright.” Physically. Mentally? You were about to have a panic attack at the thought of telling him. Swallowing harshly, you turned to grab the plates out of the upper cupboard, before moving to place them on the table. “It smells delicious.” 

Were you trying to dodge the inevitable bullet? Hell yes.

“I didn’t come to dinner because I didn’t feel too well. I’m better now, though.” Alright, so that was a half lie. Moving to grab a hand-towel, you grabbed the handle and narrowly side-stepped him to place a plentiful helping on each plate before turning to look at him. “Where’s Ruth?”

Your father frowned slightly (you had forgotten people could wear such an expression, suddenly thinking of Alastor and Maggie -), and this time when he spoke your name, you were able to catch the small hint of fatherly disappointment, as though he knew you were purposely ignoring his line of questioning.

He supposed some might argue he had been too soft on you and your younger sister; although he might have argued back he was simply tired and that when faced with your charming stubbornness and Ruth's joyous exuberance, he had merely done the best he could without risking his sanity slipping. 

As it was, you did stand to get away with a lot more than was expected of young women of the time, but deep down, your father was proud of the backbone you had grown; he watched you brush past him to make your way to the dining table, arms full with the heaping plates. 

From somewhere up on the top floor, a loud crash echoed out and a tell-tale shrill voice rang out: “IS SHE BACK YET!?”

Your father sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes shut and suddenly looking fifteen years older. Although he had never regretted being blessed with two beautiful, vivacious daughters, he had often wondered why both of you had to be such handfuls…

Your eyes lit up.

“YES!” You yelled back up to your partner in crime.

Although your expression dropped when you looked back over to your father again. That gradually growing wave of guilt suddenly became almost too much for you, and after a moment of hesitance, you pulled the chair out and sat down. You would talk to him after dinner - you weren’t going to waste another meal having an argument. That could wait.

But it was inevitable.

“Daddy, can we talk about this later?” Your eyes fell to your plate at the otherwise empty dining table. “I just want to have dinner. I’m hungry. I want to spend time with you guys before…” you closed your mouth. Oops. “Before I have to help Ruth with her homework.” It was Sunday.

There wasn’t any homework.

God  _ damn it.  _

“Or I guess just clean the house.” You were pulling at strings here, man.

Your father sighed your name, moving forward and looking like he meant to push the issue more when the sound of Ruth's smaller feet running amok down the stairs reached your ears. 

You and your father shared a look; one in which you tried your best to look innocent and yet sorrowful, and in which he simply stared back at you, disbelief clear on his weary face. You caught the roll of his shoulders as he sighed again, and with a burst of relief, you realized you had won the first round. 

He wouldn't want to argue over something as sensitive as a  _ man _ in your social life, not with your young sister within earshot. 

Ruth's squeal broke whatever remaining tension hung in the air as she hopped around your feet, her happiness at seeing you back so genuine it radiated out of her little cherub face. Without hesitation, you swept her into your arms and gave her a bone-crushing hug.

It may have been partly the raging hormones, but you felt a well of emotion start in your chest at the feel of her smaller frame against yours, sisterly affection overtaking you. Your arms tightened around her subconsciously.

You had admittedly gotten swept along in Alastor's powerful wake, the charm and excitement of the time you spent with him in his home undeniable; however, standing in the warmth and familiarity of your own home, you were overcome with some strangely pathetic emotion which made your sight blur with sudden unexpected tears. 

You hastily blinked them away, moving to break the embrace and usher Ruth to the table - hoping your father hadn't caught the sign of your tears. Nothing would damn you more...

Thankfully, your father had already turned to the table, fussing over the plate meant for Ruth; although she was capable of cutting her own meat, he was slicing the pork you had served into smaller pieces. At the very least, it was something to busy his hands with while the impending sense of paternal doom was rising in the back of his mind.

Just how early had you left this morning? 

Why were you wearing a dress clearly a few years out of fashion? 

_ Where were your other clothes... _

"Daddy!" Ruth's voice cut through his thoughts, her whine at the decibel level only small girls seemed capable of. 

Your father blinked; in the midst of his train of thoughts, the two of you had settled at the table, Ruth looking expectantly at her plate as though she wished him to stop fussing and let her eat. 

"Sorry, little honeybee." Your father murmured, the aged lines in his face softening. 

He cast a look at you, and he gave you both a nod to start eating while he moved to his seat on the other end of the table.

Needless to say, while the dinner had some thinly veiled tension within its midst, it had gone surprisingly fast - which was surprising, because when you were dreading something the time passed so unimaginably slow. Perhaps it was because of how fast you had eaten, that little bump that was still hidden from view beneath your dress a reminder that you were eating not only for yourself now, but two. 

With an empty plate, you stuck out your tongue at Ruth who looked like she wanted to  _ ask  _ you something (undoubtedly to do with her dance lesson with Alastor), but stuck out her tongue back at you with a raspberry, unintentionally spitting all over her, thankfully, empty plate. “Ugh gross, Ruth!” You let out a guffaw, before reaching over to ruffle her hair. 

“Hey!” She pouted. “I didn’t mean it…” 

You weren’t even sorry. 

“Hey sis,” you leaned back into the chair.

She grunted at you and stabbed her pork chop. 

“You have a spider in your hair.”

“No I don’t.” She muttered.

Your lips twitched as you attempted to hold back your laughter. “Uh, yeah you do.” You even went so far as to scoot your chair off to the side to get away from the supposed ‘spider’ (spoiler alert: there was no spider). “Look at it, Daddy, do you think I should get a mirror?” And then you widened your eyes and stared directly at her clean hair. 

“Oh. My.  _ God _ .” 

“What? What!?” Ruth finally gave into her gradually growing panic and began to swat her hands in her hair. “Get it off! Off, OFF!” And goodness was her squeal loud; she could probably even break glass.

“Don’t say the Lord’s name in va—“ Your dad cut in.

“—Sorry daddy.” You said quickly, before leaning closer, too immersed in having a good ol’ hoot with your sister. “I think there’s  _ two,  _ Ruth! Eww! Spider-hair, spider-hair!” You couldn’t help but indulge in childish behavior for a moment when you leaned back into the chair and finally let go and laugh. 

"Girls," your father called, although his voice was gentled by the huff of laughter that tinged it; despite the unspoken tension still hanging in the atmosphere, it always did him well to see his daughters as they should be: happy and carefree. 

Something that, since your mother had passed, often seemed in short supply. Especially given these hard times...

"Girls," he tried again, to no avail. Ruth was standing on her chair now, hands tangled in her own tresses as she worked to shake the non-existent spider loose; you were still too caught up in mocking her to listen.

" _ Girls! _ " His hand came down on the tabletop and while it wasn't an overly aggressive action (you both knew your father would never raise a hand, despite the popular opinion of the time on discipline), the sound was enough to make you both stop in your tracks. 

"Ruth, there is _ no _ doggone spider, sit down before you break a leg and finish up!" he turned his eyes (Ruth had his eyes, while you took more after your mother) to you. "And you, young lady..." he seemed to run out of steam, perhaps catching sight of your true nervousness. He motioned vaguely to the table. "Get to cleanin' this up, then we'll talk." 

He stood then and cast a baleful eye on both you and Ruth. Your father's jaw worked, clenching a few times like he meant to say something more. However, his eyes flicked between the pair of you - so alike, and yet so different - before he ran a hand through his hair. 

You watched as your father sighed, seeming to deflate in front of you. 

He muttered something then about his pipe and a strong brandy as he turned from you and made his way out of the room. It was only when you heard the familiar click of his study door down the hall did you finally allow yourself to breathe. 

You turned to look at your sister still sitting next to you. She raised her eyebrows, a cheeky grin on her face. 

"Welllllllll?" Ruth's eyes were narrowed in her glee. "Did Alastor give you COOTIES!?" 

Your eyes widened -  _ cooties? _ \- before you sputtered out a loud ‘no!’. “Of course not,” you waved a hand, a loud scoff leaving your lips (although your overactive mind immediately began to wonder if you should check your hair despite knowing full well that Alastor would jump off a bridge before he got those) before you scooted out your chair. 

“So, do you remember what I told you when you can do something really good?” You stood up and collected your father’s plate and then your own, as Ruth was still munching on her meal. Her eyes lit up as the fork flattered against the edge of the plate, a single bean slipping down her chin and landing on it again. 

“Don’t do it for free?” She called from behind you as you brought the plates and silverware to the sink and began to turn the slightly rusted knobs that ran the water. You tested the temperature a few times by quickly putting your hand through the steady stream until it was hot. Hot water always did the trick. 

“Wooow, I’m impressed. I thought you were a boob.” You snickered, focusing your attention on cleaning with an absent mind - it was a lot slower than usual, for of course, you were prolonging the inevitable. 

“Am not!” She hollered.

“Are too.” You sang back.

“I get it from you.” She huffed. 

Ruth knew that you were the only one she couldn’t win against - after all, she had learned most of her tricks to get what she wanted from  _ you. _

“Precisely, which is why,” you turned off the sink for a moment to turn around to lean against the counter. “My dear boob of a sister,” you snickered as she began to protest until you held up a finger, “You will be pleased to know that Alastor Beauchamp has offered you a…” If you were going to try this formal thing, you had to sell it. “Formal invite to a dance lesson!”

Immediately, Ruth stood up, her chair scooting out. “A- _ HA _ ! I knew it would work! My secret plan’s all coming together…” She rubbed her tiny hands together.

You snorted. “What plan?”

“It wouldn’t be a secret if I told you!” 

“Touché.” You turned back around to finish the dishes. “Are you done eating?”

“Yeah.”

“Cool, then you can do the dishes before I can tuck you in. I gotta go talk to daddy, ‘Kay?” 

“But-! Ugh! Fine.”

You were already entering the living room at that point, your eyes immediately flickering to the roaring fireplace, your father sitting on his chair with his pipe, and that insistent grandfather clock…

_ Tick. _

_ Tick. _

_ Tick. _

“Why do you think they make clocks so loud? Didn’t grandpa make that one?” Literally a grandfather clock. You attempted to break the immediate suffocating tension when you entered the room. Despite the warmth that was emitted from the fire, you suddenly felt a chill run up your spine and you swallowed thickly before coming to move towards the couch. 

Taking a heavy breath, you pressed the dress to the back of your legs and sat down. 

_ Tick.  _

_ Tick. _

_ Tick. _

Your father looked up at you, his eyes following you as you nervously sat down. He had placed his reading glasses on but you noticed the newspaper was still folded on his lap; you suddenly wondered if he had simply been sitting in contemplative silence this entire time, smoking away, and another crest of guilt stirred in you. 

While you were beginning to see the new pathway of your new and exciting life with Alastor slowly taking form, the idea that your family (your roots,  _ bloodline _ ) were taking a back seat played heavily on your mind. 

Ruth was much too young to assume all the responsibilities you had taken on and with your father working and the move and - 

Your father calling your name snapped you back abruptly to reality. His brow had furrowed slightly, as though he had called for you once or twice.

_ Oops _ . 

"Sorry Daddy..." you trailed off, one finger coming to pick at the hemline on the dress you wore. "It's been a long day." 

Your father heaved another sigh and moved to tap his pipe into the tray sitting on the small table not far from his reach. He settled back in his chair and he looked tired, suddenly aged again. The grey starting to colour the hair at his temples seemed glaringly obvious even in the low light of the room, and your heart gave another guilty tweak. 

There was a moment of silence - minus the ticking clock - in which you thought your rising thundering pulse might give you away before you had quite gotten your mind wrapped around how best to explain yourself...and your predicament. 

_ Tick. _

_ Tick. _

_ Tick. _

"You're absolutely alright?" Your father's voice was softer than you had expected, an odd tinge of emotion to his tone. 

You opened your mouth to tell him that yes, of course...when your eyes fell to the newspaper in his lap again. 

It was a day old, at least, and before you could wonder much where today's papers had ended up, your eyes caught the tell-tell headline:

**MURDERS CONTINUE IN NEW ORLEANS**

You swallowed against the sudden, strange lump of fear that made itself at home in your throat. 

"I've already lost one of you..." 

Your eyes snapped up to meet your father's gaze and, with a feeling akin to being hit by a trolley, you realized he had grown emotional, tears collecting in the corners of his eyes. 

For a man who was often so stoic, it completely caught you off guard. The last time he had cried had been when your mother had passed...

_ Tick. _

_ Tick. _

_ Tick. _

"Promise me," your father hesitated, clearing his throat harshly. When he spoke next, a small part of you was glad to hear his usual gruff tone. "Promise me, you'll start sticking to your curfew more." 

He moved the newspaper off his lap and stood then, walking over to look at the grandfather clock as though it was some art piece from the Louvre (the tendency to avoid uncomfortable things ran strong in your family).

"It's not as safe as you may think it is."

As much as you wanted to promise him, as much as you knew that he wanted to hear you say that you would always be safe, the two of you were very much aware that no one had any idea what the next day would bring. They were false promises - all you could do was try to prevent bad events from happening; but hadn’t those men and women done that too? 

What made  _ you  _ so different? 

“Daddy…” you said softly, playing with the hem of the dress you had borrowed. You opened your mouth, but the words died within it when you caught his expression in the reflection of the clock. “I can’t promise you that.” Because you knew that it took a trolley to get to Alastor’s place anyways, and the hours for it only ran on a strict schedule. If you went there during the evening, you wouldn’t catch it until the morning.

Your father sighed, "No, no I suppose you can't…" his hand moved to subconsciously pat and flatten his already short hair-style. 

"Although I have a feeling this is about more than your curfew." He turned to look at you, hands folded behind his back, "Perhaps we should talk about..." your father's face gave a slight twitch, as though he were fighting off some strong urge to frown. "... That  _ boy _ you've been going around with."

You were immediately sweating bullets. 

While it was your first instinct to say ‘nope’ and walk straight out, to simply let bygones be bygones and prolong the inevitable for as long as you possibly could, you knew you couldn’t. 

You knew he could see your nervous outwardly appearance, how your fingers twitched against the hem of your dress, or how your index finger scratched at the skin around your thumb; it was a dead giveaway that you were hiding something. It would have been so much easier if you could just… disappear. Write him a note and tell him it all without having to meet his eye.

“I’m pregnant.”

Whoa, what? 

Who said  _ that?  _ You froze, before coming to the realization that the voice had been your own. Like a deer in headlights, you stared up to his suddenly still form, that stupid clock with the  _ tick, tick, tick  _ making things so much more difficult to cope with. Honestly, you were  _ this  _ close to grabbing a rock and throwing it into the glass of it. Everything felt so slow all of the sudden, while simultaneously feeling too damn fast.

You tore your gaze away finally, unable to meet his obvious disappointment head-on. 

Your father blinked – once, twice, a third time – before he seemed to come back into himself. 

One hand moved to rub the spot in the middle of his sternum, as though there was a sudden pain there, the motion catching your attention out of the corner of your eye (you thought madly for a moment you might have given him a  _ fucking heart attack _ ), before he moved slowly towards his chair. You turned then, unable to help yourself it seemed, and watched with slowly mounting anxiety as he sank down, his mouth set in a firm line and his brows heavily furrowed once more.

You went to speak, your mouth dropping open and your hands coming up in a placating motion, but your father raised a palm, quietening you immediately.

His jaw worked furiously for a moment, his right hand clenching and unfurling on the armrest of the chair. Just when you thought you would try to break the silence once more, he sighed your name in such a way that made you falter where you were.

Your father suddenly looked about fifty years older, the lines in his work weary face almost painfully stark. The hand that reached for his pipe again was shaking slightly, although you weren't sure if it was from anger or perhaps shock. He took his time packing the end and lighting it, taking a few deep drags once it had caught.

It took a few moments, but finally he raised his eyes to meet your gaze. You weren't terribly surprised to see the disappointment reflected in their depths, but it still stung; after all, this was your father and you loved him deeply.

“You're pregnant...” His voice was hoarse, and he cleared it harshly. A tick had developed in his temple, seemingly matching that incessant ticking of that  _ damned clock _ .

You settled for simply nodding, your hands nervously still fidgeting with the hem of your dress. It would fray soon, if you weren't too careful -

“With… a baby?” Your father's question struck you dumb; you blinked owlishly back at him (had anyone else been in the room, they would have noticed the family resemblance in those looks between the two of you).

Why was this such a hard concept for _ men _ ? What else would you be pregnant with?

You nodded again.

“And it's the coloured boy's?” 

You rolled your bottom lip between your teeth, a deep inhale and exhale doing nothing for your sudden breathlessness. “ _ Alastor _ ,” you couldn’t help correcting him, an immediate instinct to protect him where he could not protect himself. 

“... He’s a good man.” Man, not boy, you tried to appeal to him. You were very much a young adult, but an adult nonetheless; you supposed that up until this point, your father had assumed that you would always be little. That growing up was impossible for you to achieve. 

But that was just a guess. 

Silence. His look was too much for you, and your anxious facade broke through at long last. “Daddy,” your voice was a bit shaky then. “I know you’re angry.” You didn’t actually know this, but he was never so… unwavering in appearing unemotional. 

“You and Mama raised me to be a good Catholic girl, taught me to wait until marriage so that I knew that I found the one so I wouldn’t be left alone and have my name,  _ our  _ family name, dirtied.” You looked off to the side, your attention falling onto the flickering of the flames of the fireplace. “So it’s not your fault. It wasn’t supposed to happen. I don’t even know  _ why  _ it happened, especially because he’s so… so…” 

You made wild motions with your hands suddenly. “I don’t know, touch-resistant? He doesn’t like being touched.” You were stumped, too. In this day and age, sexualities weren’t entirely thought of or even discovered - everyone was either married to the opposite sex or the men were sent off to training for some inevitable war. While you were accepting of it, you still were confused by it, and unless he explained it to you, you were pretty sure you would never figure it out.

“We were just friends at first. I bumped into him down at the radio station when I went to get some fruit at the market. Usually I just say sorry and we go our separate ways, but he didn’t. He  _ wanted  _ to talk to me and, gosh, does that man  _ talk.”  _ You laughed, but upon seeing your father’s face, you realized that you were just rambling and needed to get to the point. 

“Right.” You sighed. “Listen, I know this isn’t what you saw me as. I know you’re disappointed in me, hell,  _ I’m  _ disappointed in me.” 

No you weren’t. Alastor gave it  _ good,  _ but on the aspect of appealing to your father and not being disowned, you had to play it safe. You weren’t a goody-two-shoes and your father knew it too; you had always been the rebellious one, uncaring of getting muddied or doing hard work while other women turned up their noses with a disgusted scoff. It had always been that way and it would continue to always be that way. 

“Alastor’s mother, Maggie, offered me a place to stay if you still want to take that job offer in Mississippi, though.” You didn’t notice that amidst your rant, you had begun to get emotional again. “I made a mistake.” Your elbows rested on your knees, your hands coming to press the palms against your eyes until you saw those little swirls of color and static from the pressure.

That was all it seemed to take; at the first sign of your emotional state, you heard your father sigh from his seat across the room; the heavy air that had been clouding the atmosphere of the room seemed to deflate with him. When he spoke next, his voice was his more familiar soft, timbre - the same voice he had used on you when you were a small child and afraid of the dark, needing your blankie that was still drying on the wire. 

“Well, no, I will admit it isn’t what I wanted for you.” he paused to rub his hand over his hair again, his nervous habit plain to see in spite of the firm set to his jaw still. “But, every child is a blessing. Mistake or not, you’ll have to see this to the end, honey.” 

He was up and on his feet before you had time to lift your head; the familiar weight of his hand on your shoulder finally caused the pent up tension in your body to shift and you quickly felt hot tears beginning to gather in your eyes, although whether from your hormones or the collective unease of the evening finally wearing you down, you were unable to stem them. 

Your father shushed you gently, another sigh rumbling through his frame, “Come now, little lady. Come on now…” 

One of his fingers reached the end of your chin and with a gentle nudge he tipped it up. You were forced to blink away your tears, even the flickering firelight causing your sight to waver a bit before you were able to focus. “We have some things we need to get sorted, but I have faith in you. You were raised right, regardless of what others out there are going to say. It’s important that  _ you _ remember that.”

Your father shifted then, settling down next to you. You cast him a nervous look out of the corner of your eye, still not fully believing that he was accepting this quite so readily. 

“Of course,” His voice was stronger, as though he was beginning to come into more of his plan process. “No grandchild of mine will be born out of wedlock. You’ll do the proper thing…  _ Alastor _ will do the proper thing, and see you married before that babe comes along.”

“... We’re already engaged.” Your voice was hesitant as you looked at him completely then, perhaps comforted by the fact that he had yet to disown you. “Um, it happened soon after I suspected it.” 

Your father’s eyes jumped down to your right hand, where he eyed your bare ring finger, “That boy -  _ man  _ -” he corrected himself before you could say anything to admonish him. “Still needs to do right by you. Don’t let some sweet talker get you all in a tizzy. Make sure he does what he needs to.” 

You couldn’t help but, in the moment, to practically fling yourself at him; your arms wrapped around his shoulders as you breathed in his comforting scent as you buried your face into his vest. “I love you, daddy.” You whispered, your voice a bit hoarse from your constant crying throughout the days.

His arms, strong and familiar in a way that Alastor’s could never quite be, wrapped around you and pulled in just as tightly, “I love you too, my little magnolia.” 

You brought your arms tighter around him (tighter than you would with Alastor because let’s face it, the man was a twig) than before, and pressed your head further into him before you were forced to lean back at the sound of tiny footsteps moving into the audible vicinity. When you blinked, you were greeted with the sight of Ruth in the archway, a  _ frown  _ on her face.

Ruth never frowned, always living by her favorite talk-show host’s words of ‘you’re never fully dressed without a smile’, so you were  _ immediately  _ concerned and alarmed by the sight. 

“Ruth are you—” 

“You’re having a baby?” 

Her voice damn near broke your heart. You looked up to your father for a bit of help, but you came to the conclusion that you would need to appeal to her by yourself. With a soft sigh, you peeled yourself away and stood up, not bothering to peel the dress from the back of your legs before you kneeled in front of her. You took a moment to observe her features. 

“I am.” Your voice was hesitant. 

“... With Alastor?” She questioned.

“Yes.”

There was silence for a long moment.

“You aren’t coming to Mississippi, are you?” Ruth’s voice was somehow smaller and quieter than you had ever heard it before. 

This was the moment that you looked up to your father, but you were quickly brought back to Ruth when she stated: “I asked  _ you  _ a question.” 

You couldn’t really be surprised, because she got the attitude from you. You were the only one to be at blame here. “I don’t know yet.” You decided on, despite knowing full well the answer yourself. You weren’t going to Mississippi. 

Ruth crossed her little arms over her chest then, looking surprisingly formidable given her young age, “You don’t have to lie to me. I’m seven, I’m not a baby anymore.” 

“Ruth,” your father finally stepped in, his voice still soft and soothing. He offered her one of his hands, the other reaching for you. “Girls, this family has been through a lot, and we’ve gotten through it together,” he cast a quick look at you before turning back to your sister, his mouth twitching slightly, hinting at his own discomfort. “Ruth, if your sister wants to stay in New Orleans, that is her choice-“ 

“No it’s NOT!” She hollered then, her face suddenly red. “It’s not! It’s not! She can’t! You can’t!” She looked to you then who, in fact, were pretty stumped on what to do. She rarely had tantrums, which was surprising for a seven year old. “Why do you have to have a stupid  _ baby!?  _ Why did you have to do that? Can’t you just get rid of it?” 

“I’m not getting rid of it.”

“Mrs. Cole down the street already has six kids, she could use it!”

“Ruth!” Your father’s voice cut through her rambling, although he looked slightly bemused at her train of thought in spite of the seriousness of the topic. 

Ruth stamped her little foot with more gusto than you expected, “Well now I won’t get my dance lesson from the Radio Man, will I!?” 

“Who said that?” You spoke up finally. “You can have a dance lesson  _ and  _ dance with him at the wedding! And who knows, you could become best friends with the baby!” You were desperate here, man.

There was a slight pause, as though your father was too unsure to step in during what was clearly becoming a  _ thing _ between the two of you girls; Ruth stood where she was, arms still tightly crossed. Her features shifted, the gears in her mind clearly turning over all this new information. 

“Fine.” She finally murmured, as though she had gifted this acceptance to you. “But I want a new dress for the wedding.” Ruth turned to give a look to your father. 

The man raised his hands in surrender, “I suppose I’ll be buying you both new dresses…” He frowned then, as though the sudden financial strain became clear. 

“So you forgive me, then?” You cooed softly.

“I’ll think about it.” Ruth turned to you then, squinting suspiciously.

That works.

“Okay, on up to bed. It’s already past your bedtime.” Your father motioned.

“I don’t  _ need  _ a bed-“ she yawned, “-time! I am not a baby! I’m  _ seven.”  _

“Adults have bedtimes, too.” You offered. 

“They do?”

“Yep.” You couldn’t help the small laugh that fell from you.

She stared at the two of you as if you were strangers telling her to get into a car full of candy. “... Okayyy.” She backed up and, with one last look over her shoulders, she darted up the stairs. When her footsteps faded away and you heard the click of the bedroom door closing, you pulled yourself up. 

“I’m going to stop by the radio station before I come back for the night. Tell Alastor the news.” You wrapped your arms around your father again. “I’ll be home soon, I promise. I’ll go a public route.” It was the weekend, there was bound to be people out and about. Licking your lips, you leaned back and gave a small, but genuine smile. They often spoke more than words ever could - and sometimes, you would come to learn, they didn’t always convey warmth and friendliness. 

Your father’s grip tightened around you for a moment as if he was discontent with letting you out this late especially with those murders going around, before finally letting up and taking a step back. “What time is his shift over?” 

“Uh… ten?” You weren’t too sure. 

“Have him walk you home. I expect you back no later than eleven.” 

You looked to the clock - 8:30. Looking back up to your father, you gave a small nod and, with one last hug, you made your way back up the stairs. When you were free of any onlookers, you leaned against the wall and let a loud exhale escape you, the tension leaving your shoulders and body. The hard part was over and you hadn’t been disowned which was, in the lack of better phrasing, practically impossible. 

When you finally composed yourself, you continued on your way to your room, passing the countless doors in the rather long hallway that was undoubtedly made in favor of large families (and had been a personal family home for generations), you stopped by Ruth’s room and slowly turned the knob. The light of the hallway slipped into an otherwise void of a room, dark in all aspects with the light of the night-sky coming through the window. Asleep. You didn’t blame her.

Emotion took energy out of you.

Closing it, you continued your trek to your safe-place, opening the door and taking in a deep,  _ deep  _ breath of your room. “Home sweet home,” you muttered under your breath, before moving towards the bureau and pulling out a fresh pair of clothes. Needless to say, it didn’t take you long to get dressed.

“Well, I guess I’m going to need to get more clothes soon, huh?” Looking at yourself in the mirror, clad in a bow blouse, pleated skirt, and a pair of oxfords, you just  _ knew  _ you wouldn’t be able to absolutely  _ rock  _ your taste in fashion for very long. Nope. You would have to wear the  _ normal  _ clothes.

While you were mostly after comfort, everyone else wanted to get as much attention as possible. 

When you turned around, you looked towards the window and, with a quick twist of your lip into a smile, you indulged in your rebellious nature for one of the last times in a long, long nine months. Sure, you could just go through the front door like a normal human being, but what fun was that? Opening it up, you crawled through and, standing on the roof, turned around to close it. Annnd…  _ click!  _ Closed. Nice. 

Down the roof, down the ladder… and make the landing! Got it! Dusting off your skirt (although it was still spotless), you made your way out of the backyard and down the street. 

_ Time to see Daddy #2 _ .


	14. Welcome Back, Deer Listeners!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As of October 22, Cradles will be updating every other week to accommodate life and the mess that is 2020. Perhaps in the new year it’ll go back to week-by-week. BUT HEY! At least the chapters are two-in-one in length!
> 
> warnings: explicit sexual content, ya know the drill

“What do you mean I can’t see him?”

Currently, you were facing off with the front desk receptionist. The woman looked just as tired as you, which, to your credit, you were completely ignoring and instead leaning over the counter in order to possibly strangle her. Except, you weren’t; but it was the thought that counted, right? She - _Bertha -_ looked a bit off-put by your insistent display, and you knew immediately that she was inwardly condemning you. 

Which, honestly, you didn’t fault her for. You weren’t out to attack her, you just wanted to see your goddamn fiancé.

“Listen, darlin’, we get a lot of you youngin’s in here, but Alastor is all too busy to be talkin’ to fans.”

Fans? _Fans?_ She thought you were a fan? 

“I’m not a fan.” You defended yourself, suddenly feeling very much _attacked_ yourself. Well, you were a fan, but you weren’t _just_ a fan, okay!? 

“... So, if ya got gifts, you can leave ‘em right here and I’ll make sure that he gets them and knows that a pretty little lass wanted to say ‘hi’.” Bertha completely ignored you, a bored tone with an equally obvious standard speech for the commodities that occurred in the place. You, however, weren’t having it, and your patience was already being flayed.

“Listen, _Bertha.”_ You repeated in the sickly-sweet tone, “I’m not a fan. I’m his fiancé.” 

She paused for a second, looked over you, (and for one glorious second, you thought you may have actually convinced her) before letting out a loud guffaw. “That’s a new one, certainly!” She laughed, the sound echoing through the otherwise empty entrance and making such an obnoxious person sound that much more infuriating. “Oh goodness, you nearly got me on that one!” She reached over and _patted_ your head.

You were going to explode. 

“But maybe you should wait a few more years before making such claims like that!” Her crows feet seemed that much more defined.

_A few more years?_

“Bertha,” you leaned on your elbows then. “How old do you think I am?”

She gasped. “It’s quite rude to guess a woman’s—“

“You absolute hypocrite.” You snapped. God, people like her pissed you off and it had absolutely nothing to do with your rampaging hormones. 

“ _Excuse_ me?”

“I asked you a question. How old do you think I am?”

She frowned and looked over you. “Sixteen.”

Nope. That was your breaking point.

“I am twenty-three!” You barked back, before moving further into the establishment before she could stop you. “And Bertha?” You placed one hand on the staircase door. The woman looked a bit lost in that moment, her brain short-circuiting apparently. “If you ever touch me again, you won’t have a job.” 

Good riddance. 

The door clanged sharply closed behind you, the sound just harsh enough to make you feel slightly proud of the dramatic exit. 

Speaking of which, somewhere on the upper floor there would be someone else who might be proud of such an exit (you hoped. Or maybe he would be pissed that you may have thought to break that perfect smile).

Your feet echoed slightly in the staircase, shoes scuffing the hardwood floor as you bounded up the steps; wouldn't be so agile for much longer, no doubt, so you allowed yourself the moment of childlike joy. With such a big hurdle out the way, your family's begrudging acceptance made your heart soar!

The second floor was nothing exceptionally fancy; more of the same hardwood and muted colored walls. A few ornate lamps hung here and there, along with some photos of landmarks of the city. There were several smaller offices up here, and you knew from all Alastor’s rambling about his work, that several air personalities would share the space as they needed - You hesitated slightly, trying to remember which door he had mentioned he booked - 

A quick glance around brought notice to the coat stand not too far away; you immediately saw the overcoat Alastor had worn out that evening among the few others hanging there. Knowing you were at the right place, you set off down the hallway hoping you might catch a glimpse of him somewhere… after all, how hard could it be to find such a bean pole of a man? 

The first door you passed was empty, the frosted glass in the window dark; not uncommon given the later hour.

Approaching the second door, you caught wind of muted voices conversing. Your footsteps faltered, your ears instinctively trying to catch the sound of Alastor’s familiar tones. It became clear rather quickly, however, that of the people inside, your fiancé was not one of them. 

It was by the fifth door, admittedly the last one in the hall, that you finally picked up the sounds of soft music playing - Cab Calloway by the sounds of it - and the clicking of the machinery inside. If your radio host was anywhere, he _had_ to be here. With a sudden bout of nerves (simply because you didn’t really know how he would react to you just strutting in like you owned the place), you turned the knob. 

… Only to wince at the loud squeak of the hinges. 

And there was the man in question, sitting in a chair and manning the different dials and other things. Honestly, it looked extremely confusing and you sure as hell weren’t about that. There was a microphone atop the desk, and coming off of it, a pair of headphones that covered his ears. So _that’s_ why he didn’t hear you. A sudden rush of giddiness and mischievousness ran through your body, a soft laugh escaping you no matter how hard you tried to stay quiet. 

Such chances were rare. 

That being said, you closed the door quietly behind you and, repeating that same ‘stalking-werewolf’ pose you had earlier (it worked wonders, okay?), you crept across the space between the two of you and _just_ when you were sure he had to have noticed your shadow looming over him, you brought your arms around his shoulders to dangle over his chest. For one rare instance, you were even able to rest your chin on the top of his head.

But you didn’t say anything, just in case he was live.

Beneath your touch, Alastor instantly froze, the muscles in his neck and broad shoulders (some part of his body you greedily took a moment to ogle from this angle) cording under the sudden strain. He had caught sight of your shadow moving over his workspace, however, you had managed to slink your arms around him before he had thought to move - it was the faint, sweet-smelling scent he had come to learn as _you_ that kept him from completely jumping out of his skin (and perhaps body-checking you out of his personal bubble). 

Both of his large hands came up to touch your forearms, Alastor stopping to give you a light squeeze (as though perhaps confirming through touch it was you) before moving to ease the large set of headphones off his ears. He reached out and flipped one of the many confusing switches that were laid into the radio set, a small red light flickering on - you realized it must have meant he had disconnected from the live airway. 

Still, you weren’t sure, so you didn’t make a sound until he did. 

“Ain't anyone teach you not to sneak up on a man, sweetheart?” Alastor’s accent came through, the last residual dregs of the small adrenaline rush you had given him thickening his usual tone. 

“Nope.” Your lips twitched to life, a soft laugh escaping you before you pulled away from him and went to the desk. Careful not to sit on anything _but_ the desk, you hopped up and swung your legs in a care-free manner. “Your receptionist is a dick.” You couldn’t help it, alright? You were petty.

“Bertha?” The man questioned, a slight chuckle coming from him. “Why, I’ve always found her to be a delightful dish!” A rather suspicious grin spread over his face. 

You narrowed your eyes and, because he was in reach, you kicked your foot out and hit him in the knee. “Is that so?” You hadn’t felt jealousy really, but he was also a dick so like. It was only normal you eventually would. “Didn’t know you liked old broads, Al.” You looked off to the side then with a scrunched up nose, because let’s face it, you were throwing an internal hissy-fit. 

She said you looked sixteen! You didn’t _look sixteen, damnit._ You could hear the sarcasm dripping off of his words, obviously, but still. STILL! 

Alastor’s chuckle was deep and rich, and your skin rippled with goosebumps at the sound of it. His hands reached out and wrapped around your waist before tugging you back to sit on his lap. In mimicry of your previous actions, he rested his chin on the top of your head; you crossed your arms, a pout forming on your lips.

The wall of machinery in front of you gave a sudden metallic click sound, and with a snap of his fingers Alastor reached out to pluck up his headphones again. 

“One moment, _cher,_ ” he cooed in your ear, consciously choosing to utilize his normal speaking voice against you. “ _Daddy_ needs to work for a moment.” 

You choked on your breath as your eyes immediately widened - there was a difference between you saying it and him saying it that affected you _completely_ different ways - just as your prior protests were silenced as he leaned over to talk into the microphone. As much as you wanted to say something completely embarrassing (maybe moan really loud into the microphone), you kept your mouth shut. 

You knew how important it was to him. 

So you just ended up silently seething over _Barta_ or whatever her name was. Who named their child Berka? You leaned back into his chest and crossed your arms tighter. 

With one last chuckle at your noticeable on-going tantrum, Alastor quickly flicked the switch he had turned prior, adjusted his headset and leaned over the microphone. 

“Welcome back, dear listeners,” Alastor shifted you just enough so that you were settled more to his side; this way he was able to keep one dark eye on you while he fiddled around with the various dials in front of him. The machinery started clicking again, the large wheels of recordings on the mixing console beginning to turn. 

“The city is awash in the evening light, and I’m feeling a certain way,” he gave you a nudge while he gave his signature sign off (one you knew by heart, although you would take _that_ secret to the grave). He clicked another switch and the wheels in front began to turn faster. 

He moved just enough to slip the headphones over your ears and, after taking a moment to gently adjust them to fit you better, your ears were filled with the warbling horn and soft crooning of Louis Armstrong as ‘ _I Can’t Believe You’re In Love With Me_ ’ began to play in your ears. Your eyes immediately lit up and while you _told_ yourself not to read too much into it—

Your pettiness was immediately washed away as you stilled in his hold, the smallest of smiles beginning to appear on your lips, the headphones coming slightly undone and ruffling your hair as you leaned your head back to press a kiss to the bottom of his jaw - which, of course, was the closest thing you could reach. 

Always the opportunist, and seeing a way to get back into your good graces (although Alastor wasn’t fully certain why you had reacted so), the man was more than happy to turn and press his lips to yours, his mouth fitting against the spaces of your own in a way that you were sure no one else could. One hand came to tug the headset off your head, before it moved back to cup the spot of sensitive skin just at the nape of your neck. It was soft and chaste, but the butterflies made themselves known in the pit of your belly regardless. 

“You should believe, Mr. Beauchamp.” You couldn’t help the coo that fluttered forth. “Because we’re yours now.” It was a bit difficult to reach for his lips again considering you were leaning against his chest, so you did the best thing you could manage and, pulling the shirt out of the skirt, you attempted to grab his hand so that he would be able to feel your belly. 

Your eyes fell to his hand then, a look of curiosity perhaps now managing to drown out whatever pettiness that still had control over you. “... Not that we weren’t before, but, I mean… _really_ yours now.” The thought of Alastor truly becoming your husband was something that excited you and terrified you - it was a new chapter in your life, and you were _young._

Alastor’s hand twitched against your belly, the size difference allowing him to cup against your skin in a way that his whole palm seemed to fill with the bump - a flash of masculine pride filtered through him, before he was able to focus on what you had said.

“So, your father…?” Alastor cleared his throat; some part of him felt slightly guilty for making you face your father head-on and alone, although he knew the reason to simply be because he was needed at work. 

The worry in his voice was something that snapped you out of whatever trance you had found yourself in, and you tilted your head back to peer up at him again. “No. He was disappointed,” and disappointment was _far_ worse than anger, “-but he is supporting me. Us. He said that you’re going to marry me or he will kick your ass,” he didn’t actually say that but hey, he wouldn’t know. Except maybe if he saw your crinkled eyes. 

Alastor hummed, hand moving from your neck to fall to your side so he could press you closer; his other hand shifted on your petite bump. While he couldn't see the impish look on your face, your body language was much too lax against him for your words to be fully true. The pit of anxiety that had been sitting in his chest all day lessened a little, once again your presence helping to ground him. 

Otherwise, it would have been all too easy for the man to fall down the rabbit hole of dark thoughts that came along with the social implications of your relationship. 

So instead, Alastor took a moment to relish in the feel of you next to him, curled tight to his side in what may easily have been one of his favourite places (the bayou another, of course). Rather than check in - a rare moment for the man who _lived_ to talk - Alastor simply leaned forward (you moving with him) and set another recording to play through. 

The headphones were too far away for you to pick up any of the sounds beyond tinkling piano keys and what might have been a trombone. You thought briefly to ask him to at least let you listen, but the feel of his firm chest under your hands as he shifted you made you more than happy to let him manhandle you back into position - tucked to his side, his arm crooked around your form. 

"I was already planning on marrying you," Alastor couldn't keep the slight whine from his voice. 

He grunted then, moving to press his face to the part of your neck he could reach from this strange angle, his breath washing over your skin. Although the two of you had only been apart for mere hours, Alastor couldn't deny the flame of desire that was growing in his gut. 

You felt like you belonged there.

And he found he liked it. 

"Don't tease me, sweetheart," he murmured to the column of your throat. "I missed you." 

The smirk you felt follow his words dimmed the romantic tone a bit. 

He _missed_ you. It was a phrase you had heard him say… well, never. As much of a professional sweet talker he was, you had begun to suspect that he hid a lot of the truth of his true emotions away from you for whatever reason; he hid behind that damned smile like it was a lifeline, although, you couldn’t help but swoon at the sight of it. His smile was a part of him that you felt uncomfortable even imagining it gone. 

“I…” You pressed forward then, feeling yourself slip a bit from his grip and into the space of the chair. “I know.” You couldn’t help the snark in your voice if you very well tried; although, it was fueled by playfulness. But to appease him, you pushed yourself off of him and stood between his long thighs, your hand coming to grasp his tie to pull him towards you. 

But you see, you were playing an unfinished game.

Pressing your nose to his and running the tip of it up the bridge, you maneuvered your face to soon fall back so that you could ghost your lips against his, never giving him exactly what you knew he wanted most. “If only you weren’t at work.” You pouted then with a wink, before leaning away and quickly turning to look over the cogs and wheels. “So you’re tellin’ me that all this… is what gives music? What does it all do?” 

"It's all live, darling," Alastor murmured behind you, hands reaching to drag you back to his lap where you rightly belonged. You let out a soft huff at the sudden contact again, although you couldn’t help but be mildly pleased that _he_ was seeking _you_ out. "It transmits to the tower and then it's broadcasted out on the local frequency…" He continued.

After a moment of shifting you until you finally pressed back to his front, Alastor hummed, his nose seeking out the soft spot behind your ear, the smell of your shampoo filling his senses again. It was quickly becoming a guilty pleasure of his - to seek out these small moments of comfort. 

"All live, minus the ETs here..." he trailed off, catching the blank look that passed over your face. "Electrical transcripts; the recording is scratched on the blank, and it can be played at a later time. We have someone come in to do that, of course… the show studio was the first door you would have passed." 

He pulled back enough to give you a surprisingly steely look; this was a passion of his, after all, and he suddenly wondered if you meant to simply tease him through it all.

Instead, you found yourself undoubtedly impressed, much to Alastor’s surprise. There was a genuine interest as you scanned the boxes, buttons, the metal contraptions that appeared nothing less than a phenomenal work of art. You didn’t understand a single word he had just said, though, and that’s what made it that much more unique and interesting. 

“Have I told you…” you leaned your head back to press against the junction of his shoulder and neck. Tilting your lower face slightly, along, of course, with the rest of your head, you managed to somehow sit up straight enough to reach his ear. “How smart you are?” You whispered in a coo. Just because you were too much of a goody-two-shoes (in this sense at least) to initiate anything _too_ raunchy, it didn’t mean you couldn’t stroke his ego.

Oh by god did this man have an ego. 

Alastor fixed his bow-tie (as best he could with you pressed against him so tightly) out of habit, practically preening under your attention. His eyes drifted shut at your touch, your lips brushing achingly gentle against his ear, and he had the wild thought to simply let the air time run out, so he could better explore the playful mood you were in. 

"I have mere inklings, darling." Alastor’s tone was light, almost simpering, but his words were still coloured with pride.

He knew what you were doing, of course, but that didn't mean he'd _stop_ you.

“You are-“ you pressed your lips fully to just below his ear, unable to hide the soft giggle that escaped you, “-smarter than Einstein.” The man was on all newspapers nowadays, so you didn’t have any hesitance of knowing if he knew who he was. Everyone and their mother did. It was a silly claim, to be sure, but you found Alastor’s mind to be one of the most beautiful concoctions there were (although, you remained wholly unaware of the darker yet darkest things that lurked there). 

For now, he was your lover, your fiancé, your partner in - hopefully - hypothetical crime. 

You dragged the tip of your nose down to his jaw, before your smile lit up your face again, a laugh coming to shake your shoulders slightly. “I shouldn’t have started with Einstein, he’s a tough nut to surpass.” So, basically, you were at a loss on how else to praise him; because let’s face it, you were pulling a lot of it out of your ass since he was pretty fucking stupid at times. A prime example of a _boob._

Alastor’s eyes snapped open at your teasing, acutely aware of the sudden change from praise to gentle mocking. 

Some terrible, dark urge was birthed in his mind and he thought desperately to tell you _exactly_ why he was so smart; of all the things you knew of him, it was the things you remained wholly unaware of - all the things he had gotten away with - that he took the most twisted pride in. 

The light blinked on the console in front, and the man leaned forward - large frame squashing you lightly into the edge of the table as he did so - and flicked another switch, seeming to operate on autopilot. With a brief pause of static, another melody played, tinny and muted through the headset left resting not far away. 

Alastor drew back and shifted you, correcting any misplacement. This put your head back just beneath his, so he could easily tuck his cheek to yours, so his larger frame cradled around you. 

"You're a cruel little dame..." he murmured then, and the dark tone to his voice made the baby-hairs on the nape of your neck stand up. "Teasing a man like that. Especially a man like me." 

“Teasing?” You whispered as if you hadn’t heard him. You turned to look away then to hide that telling smile. “What on earth would I tease the mighty Alastor about?” You bit the tip of your tongue to stop yourself from laughing. You leaned back into him a bit more then, paired with a cross of your arms. 

“No, sir, no teasing here…” If you looked at him in that moment, you probably would have lost it.

Not generally one to take well to being ignored, Alastor took the chance to snake his arms around your middle, one hand drifting on its own to land just over the soft swell that rested behind the soft material of the blouse you wore. Whether the man intended to do such an action was up for debate; Alastor had pressed his nose to the junction of your neck at the same moment, stealing both of your attention to the fact that his breath was washing over your skin in a way that made goosebumps rise. 

_God damn it._

The other arm lifted slightly to land across your own, still crossed over your chest. It wasn’t long before a long finger came to rest under your chin, slight pressure behind the action clearly implying that he _expected_ your attention. He cooed your name for good measure, the questioning lilt to his tone doing nothing to hide the rich timbre. 

Part of him abruptly wanted to hide his face away in space between your neck and shoulder, while the other part of him wanted nothing more than to continue to chase the _thrill_ that was beginning to wash over him. Although the pair of you had only been apart for mere hours, Alastor was slightly startled by the intensity of the impulse driving his actions.

But you being you, feeling a mixture of pettiness and playfulness amidst the desire would never go well with what was coiling in your gut; a flicker of a flame from the tinder and stone that sparked it to life. It was indescribable how much power he had over you, physically and mentally. With one touch, he turned you to putty, and while one part of you wanted to fight against it and hold onto your pride, the other was simply a girl finding herself content in a lover's embrace. 

“I confess,” you started as you tilted your head back from his contact with your chin. “I like teasing you.” You closed your eyes briefly to offer him a bit of affection by nuzzling the top of your head against his jaw. “Which is exactly why I’m not going to stop.” You couldn’t help the laugh in your voice.

Alastor moved as if to chase after you as you moved your face away, the crown of your hair tickling his chin as you shifted; your position in his lap brought to light that despite the almost overzealous intimacy you had shared not so long ago, he couldn't help but be charmed by you - even physically, as inexperienced as he truly still was, you were able to stir him to life as no other had been able to. 

He shifted again, this time the evidence of his reaction to you more than evident as his length brushed against the small of your back, the feeling familiar even through all the layers separating you. Alastor’s nose came to trace the shell of your ear, his breath hot as he cooed your name once again, the hand on your belly shifting downwards slightly; his fingers already beginning to pull your pleated skirt up, the material bunching under his hands. 

Needless to say, you were so much in your own mind in that moment that you didn’t realize what was going on until it was happening and, while you didn’t have anything against it (obviously from the sudden pang of desire that aroused you), you were instantly aware of the fact that he was at work and you didn’t want to get him in trouble. You knew how important the job was, and, having the brain in the relationship, you knew physicalities of intimacies such as these could wait.

“Al…” Your voice came out as more of a whine than you wanted it to, your body obvious in its sudden wants, but you quickly bit it down as best as you were able. “Alastor.” 

You brought your hand down to lay against the warmth of his own hand that was holding the skirt up. “We- _You’re_ at work.” You whispered softly, before leaning your head back to look up at him. “Don’t be an idiot.” You closed your eyes then and brushed your nose against the side of his chin. “I want you too, but it can wait. I don’t want to get you in trouble.” 

Through the entirety of your speech, Alastor had been peppering the side of your neck with soft, open-mouthed kisses, until your nose brushed his chin at which he turned and sought out your lips with his own. You managed to pull back enough that his mouth only just ghosted against yours, and without pause, a deep rumble echoed in his chest. With a start, you realized he had apparently _growled_ at you.

“Did you fucking _growl_ at me?” You couldn’t help the quirk of your lips as you finally let out a laugh. “Big, bad wolf…” You snickered softly to yourself, although you didn’t really care if he heard. 

Your laugh was all it took to slightly bring him out of whatever spiral he had been edging down; Alastor gave his head a gentle shake, although his arm did shift enough to press you back into him more. 

“There’s only a short while left on my time slot, doll,” he murmured against the back of your head. “And the door locks…” His fingers once again took up the plan, your skirt climbing up your thighs as he plucked at the fabric. 

It didn’t really make you feel better knowing that you were still very much in a public place with _people._ You rolled your lip in-between your teeth, before you couldn’t help the small grunt at the sight of him slowly bringing your lower-wear up, and the feeling of him pressing against your back. 

“If you get fired…” you started, before attempting to take his hand off of you. “It’s not my fault. As long as we agree on that, _doll.”_

The snark in your voice was normal enough that you didn’t even notice it. “But I think that, if you really want me, it would be better um…” You looked around, before settling your sights on the table. “There?” You weren’t sure. This was his place. Kinda. His studio, his _thing._

Alastor had you up in his arms, bridal style, before you could do much more than yelp slightly and wrap your arms around his neck. He managed to somehow balance the majority of your weight between his one forearm and his hip, the other arm darting out to swipe the notepad and pencil laying on the tabletop. He took a little more care to hang the headphones, before placing you on top of the table. 

The look in his eye made your stomach coil, both from the spark of desire beginning to grow there and some deeper, instinctual uncertainty suddenly filled you with the urge to _run_. It was something that you didn’t completely understand, considering you had never felt such an… emotion - was it an emotion? - before. 

Before you could do much more than catch your balance from the loss of his arms supporting you, Alastor had placed one large hand gently around the expanse of the of your throat, his thumb coming to press lightly to the soft, sensitive notch at the very base. With just enough pressure to ensure you would comply, Alastor loomed over you then and surged his mouth to yours. 

Although your earlier teasing had been nothing short of light and playful, even for you, it had struck some nerve deep within him, and without Alastor realizing it, he wanted nothing more than to prove just how wrong you were. 

His blunt teeth came to scrape ever so softly over your bottom lip, the man tugging it lightly as he finally pulled away. Perhaps becoming aware of his specific actions, the hand at your throat eased slightly (although he didn’t remove it completely) and his nose came to rest against the tip of your own. 

You took the chance to almost _lean_ into his hand around your throat. He acted that just because you were pregnant, or small, whatever one it was, that you were some glass china. “It’s okay,” you assured him lightly, and in doing so tried to capture his lips with yours. “If you want to make love to me,” you breathed as you pulled away to instead brush them against his own. “Then make love to me. If you want to _fuck me,”_ you pressed your lips to his again with a bit more force that time. 

_Then fuck me._

Alastor shuddered against you, his lean form pressing further into you as he leaned you both back over the tabletop. The kiss he gave you in return was almost clumsy, his eagerness getting the best of him. He took a moment to shift you, so your legs came to dangle over the edge; one hand came to rest on your kneecap, already making short work of pushing your skirt up again; this time you didn’t stop him. 

The man gave a pleased grunt, lips still sealed to yours, as he was able to trail to his fingertips further up the enticingly soft skin of your thigh.

He hesitated only slightly when he brushed against the simple cotton of your underwear, before he moved just enough to press his pointer to your covered folds in just the right way. A soft shaky breath escaped you in return, and keeping your lips still pressed against his own, the soft sounds of connection only further turning you on, you brought a hand up to rest against his right cheek. 

There was an almost tenderness to it, something that showed him that even if you couldn’t stand the next day, it was still out of love. Each time, no matter how intense it was, was made out of love; at least from your end. Your fingers splayed there, your thumb gingerly coming beneath his eye to stroke his heated flesh. After a long moment of equally long kisses, you pulled away to nuzzle your nose against his. 

“Al,” you cooed softly at the sensation of his finger. “Sweetheart, darling, baby, shnookums, I don’t think we have time for foreplay.” You snorted, and essentially probably ruined the entire mood. Well, it was worth it.

Alastor’s nostrils flared slightly (there was something about seeing you come completely undone under his touch that had him quickly becoming addicted), although he followed your moment of tenderness by returning your eskimo kiss. 

“If you insist, darling.” He winked at you, mouth ghosting over yours once more, just as he moved to delicately push one finger past the band of your underwear, seeking the wet heat he knew to be there. Your mouth, which had been open to protest, immediately closed at the sensation of it alone. 

The look that filtered over his face told you he knew he had won this round - the smug bastard - and Alastor gifted you with a quick, almost painfully chaste kiss, just as he eased his pointer into your core. He made sure to pause, waiting to see if your inner muscles would accept or reject him. When you made no motion to push him away, instead your head falling forward to rest gently against his upper chest, Alastor crooked his finger. 

He made sure to pull back just enough so he could greedily take in the expression flitting across your face, his hand beginning to move between your thighs in a steady pattern. His hand twisted just enough so he could brush his thumb over your clit, the bundle of nerves already swollen and sensitive to his affections. 

When you leaned up to try to capture his lips with your own, wholly expecting him to just rain affection on you in a tidal wave (because that’s what your body wanted most), you were mildly disappointed when he moved his head back. You tried it again, giving him the benefit of the doubt, but he only moved his head _away._ You knew what he was doing.

“Will you _please_ just kiss me, you asshole?” You weren’t below calling him names to get more of his sweet loving. “Please…” There was even a whine to your voice. 

Alastor’s palm came to grind against your folds, his lips curving into his patented shit-eating grin as he felt your hips buckle. His dark eyes narrowed at your words, gaze trailing over the curve of your neck and shoulder. 

"Needy little thing," he teased, as though he hadn't been the one to start _this_. "You only have to ask."

Alastor leaned in just enough to brush the tip of his nose against yours before swiftly moving to press a kiss to the juncture of your neck. 

"Here, _cher_?" The man cooed, honeyed accent causing another thrill to run down your spine, despite his teasing. "Or ova' here?" His mouth ghosted over the shell of your ear before he pulled away again.

Alastor caught the slight tensing of your jaw and knew you were itching to give him another dose of your own sass; he merely added a second finger, watching almost lazily as your eyes unfocused slightly - he couldn’t help himself then from nipping your bottom lip. 

His fingers picked up the pace, the lewd sounds of your wet heat beginning to reach his ears, only adding to the growing desire in his own gut. 

"Here, sweetheart?" Alastor’s voice was a husky growl now; his own arousal painfully obvious, straining against the front of his slacks as he loomed over you. His hand between your thighs was incessant, stroking at your inner walls at a slow, steady pace.

Despite his words, your eyes fluttered shut as he ever so gently pressed his lips to one eyelid and then the next, your lashes quivering against his skin. The contrast between the gravel tone of his words and the warm affection in the touch of his lips, coupled with his practiced movements at your core was enough to make you gush, your inner walls beginning to flutter. 

Alastor squashed his nose to yours just as your mouth opened, a low moan tumbling from your lips. Knowing you were on the edge of reaching the peak of pleasure, he quickly moved his hand away, a raw squelch filling the air in such a way that made your skin immediately darken with a blush. 

Before you could protest, Alastor met your parted lips with his own in a hot, opened mouthed kiss. You groaned again, although he swallowed it greedily, the fire of need in your belly only stoked to life more. 

You felt one hand leave you, the rustling of clothing and the tinkling sound of the metal of his belt clasp telling you he had reached to free himself from the confines of his slacks.

Alastor quickly repositioned himself between your legs, shifting you slightly so your still-clothed core pressed to the bare tip of his length, your skirt firmly bunched up over your hips; his mouth quickly coming back to meet yours in another searing kiss. 

He finally pulled away enough to sigh your name, the tantalizing roll of his hips more than hint enough as to what he was asking from you.

Your one hand came to return to his cheek again, your chin tilting up to finally press your lips against his, the connection slow and brief as that agonizing built-up pressure in your core begged to be released from his insistent and pleasurable movements. There was something ridiculously raunchy about having intercourse on his _work desk,_ but it only fueled the once again building desire that his kisses alone had on you. 

“Needy _large_ thing,” you raced your tongue over his bottom lip, your own slightly parted in your effort to catch your breath before a coy smile formed upon your lips. “You need only ask…” There was something about parroting his words right back at him that aided in maintaining your playful side; if only for the moment. “Tell me what you want from me, lover boy.” You nipped his bottom lip gently. “And maybe I’ll think about it,” your thumb ran just beneath his eye affectionately. 

“ _You_.” Alastor breathed, the man moving so he could rest his forehead against yours. "You, all of you, my darling dame." 

The same hand as before came to trail up your thigh; Alastor shifted one way just enough so that there was space between your bodies for him to fit his palm to your core again, cupping you intimately while two fingers drew the flimsy sideband of your underwear to the side. 

His hips came to press forward, the flushed and swollen tip of his length coming to rub along your slick folds, his hand moving just enough to allow him space but still keeping his fingers circling your clit. 

Alastor’s nostrils flared, bringing your attention back to his face despite his continued ministrations between your legs. Some odd look crossed his handsome features, the corner of his grin twitching as though in uncertainty. 

"I'm not sure what kind of spell you've put over me," Alastor murmured, his tongue darting to wet his bottom lip. "But bewitched me, you have." 

Alastor’s hand stilled slightly from where it was pressed to your slick heat, his still swollen length (practically throbbing to the beat of his pulse now) nudged up against the slick opening of your core, although his lanky frame stilled before he sank too deeply.

He heaved a small sigh then, eyes flickering over your face in spite of your close, salacious contact. 

"You stunning creature, I'd wade the depths of Hell for one sweet kiss..." He trailed off in order to ghost his lips across yours. " _Please_ …"

With shared breath, you found it nearly overwhelming for you to play with him for an extended period of time - there was something incredibly breathtaking about moments such as there, minus the actual physical part of the actions - where you much more easily could feel him stretch you like no man ever had, or ever would; to feel his soft in texture, but rough in movement, lips against your own. “ _Always.”_

Your words were whispered against him to ensure that he knew that you were just as eager to accept his affections as he was you. 

There would come a day, perhaps, where you would find another way to express such emotions between the two of you, but for right now, you were content with letting him sink deep inside of your walls and press searing kisses to your equally heated flesh. In that moment, you wanted nothing more than to see his full body, the way that his lithe muscles flexed against you, to see how far his blush traveled.

Hidden beneath his clothes, you were only able to get a hint by his hands, his facial expressions, and the inevitable stuttering of his hips.

However, your patience was a bit limited considering you _desperately_ didn’t want to get caught (no matter how many times he assured you that the door was locked), along with the fact that with his thumb pressing so sweetly against your clit, and you already having been so close to the edge beforehand, you weren’t sure how long you’d actually, well, last. Your body prohibited you from moving to stop him, because he just felt so _good-_

“Ah, if you don’t stop,” you were surprised at the breathlessness to your voice, and even more so at the dewiness that would have been visible if he parted his forehead from yours. A soft moan escaped you as you even went so far as to attempt to push yourself further down the table to get to him, to feel more of him. You wanted nothing more. 

Alastor's chuckle was an odd, breathless thing as it washed over your heated skin; he was clearly caught up in the feeling of your body and all you offered him so willingly. He had felt you shift closer, allowing him to reach some deep spot inside your innermost core that made your eyes nearly roll in their sockets.

His frame shuddered against you then, his pleasure quickly climbing so that he too hung on the edge of his release - after all, with you, it never did take long.

You arched your back subconsciously, making it easier to tilt your hips downwards, greedily seeking more of his sweet, mind-numbing affections; occasionally, your noses bumped against each other due to the shifting of your combined bodies. It made tenderness bloom in your chest, which only served to sweeten each move Alastor made against you. 

The man practically _ached_ with the need to be closer to you, although the mechanics of your current activity made such fulfillment naturally difficult. 

Instead, Alastor settled for ducking his head, lips tracing the swell of one breast through the fabric of the blouse you wore, his mouth listing on a pebbled nipple - even though you still wore your clothing, the heat and pressure of his lips on such a sensitive spot caused a shot of pleasure to travel down your spine. 

"S-Stopping was never an option, sweetheart." The man stuttered out in a coo as he lifted his head once more, his words hitching despite his best efforts as his release coiled heavily in his core. Alastor surged his mouth to yours then, his hips keeping up their pace between your thighs. His fingers pressed just a little more to your swollen clit, tell-tale sparks of pleasure beginning to shoot up your spine, your legs locking around his thin waist to pull him deeper as your toes curled - 

Lips still intimately fused to yours, Alastor gave a sharp grunt, his slim hips stuttering against you. The flash of heat from his release was all that you needed to tip over that sweet edge and come crashing down, your muscles taut as you shuddered through your own beautiful orgasmic experience. 

Your toes flexed again and one leg arched just enough to secure Alastor’s form to your own, your wildly fluttering inner muscles drawing him deeper into you. 

The hand that had been between your thighs came up to cup behind your ear, easily allowing Alastor to tip your jaw more, his tongue sweeping to run along your bottom lip as he swallowed any lingering moans or gasps that echoed from your form as you slowly came down off your high. 

When the two of you finally parted (the need for oxygen made itself known), nothing but the sound of your shared breathing and the tiny clicks of the reels on his work desk reached your ears.

Your chest heaved with each intake of breath that you struggled to get within your lungs. 

With a face that was simply too flushed to be considered anything other than a tomato at that point, you wheezed out a soft laugh - not that anything was inherently funny, but that this entire situation, the one between the two of you, the entirety of your _relationship_ was absolutely absurd. “I promise,” you leaned up to him then.

The table creaked beneath your weight paired with his, as he had come to lean on it. It caused you to pause for a second before continuing with what you were doing, and so you rubbed your nose against his in a show of tenderness; eyes fluttering shut for a single second in a racing world that was far too fast-paced for your liking. 

“That wasn’t my intention for coming here.” A giggle fell from your lips. “I just wanted to see you. I got excited - father took it… as well as he could have, given the situation.” You shrugged slightly, although it was a bit lackluster from the sapping of energy he seemed to lure out of you.

Raising your hand, you rested it over his shoulder and began to play with the thinner hairs at the back of his head. “I didn’t want you to worry - I know I would be worried. But we’re not the same person, that would be weird, so y’know… so honestly…” You scrunched your eyebrows together. 

God damn, you were suddenly really tired. 

“I don’t even know what I’m talking about anymore.” Have you ever walked into a room and forgotten what you were there for? 

Yeeeah. 

Alastor rolled his eyes at your slight rambling, although the curve of his smile was genuine on his face; he tucked his head enough to press his face to your neck, your skin dewy and flushed. He would be quite content to stay just as he was, still buried between your thighs and nuzzling your throat. 

The man whispered your name in a lilted timbre, hoping the tonality of his words would be enough to stop your mind from continuing on its rampaging path to self destruction, as he was admittedly not willing to part from your form just yet - 

A series of loud knocks on the door, followed by the coarse jiggling of the handle brought you both crashing back to reality. 

You jumped enough that Alastor's softened cock finally slipped from your heat; you both rushed to straighten yourselves out, you pushing down your skirt and adjusting your blouse while the man across from you tucked himself away and quickly shrugged on his blazer. 

Ever the gentleman, Alastor offered you a hand so you could make the short hop down to the floor; your skin pebbled with pleasant goosebumps as you felt some of his release, still warm, wet against your thighs. 

It was absurdly lewd and you thrilled at the feeling, knowing it was a result of what you had shared with him and him alone. 

Another series of knocks sounded from the other side of the door, followed by a string of curses so profound you thought even the most experienced sailor would blush; Alastor threw his head back with a cackle, your own lips tugging up at the corners as you watched him quickly hit several switches so that the console on the desk seemed to slow. 

_"Hurry up, Beauchamp!"_ A guff voice came clearly through the door. "Just because you wasted air time doesn't mean we all do!" 

With his usual flourish, and only taking a brief pause to dust off his sleeves (although they were perfect as ever even after your strenuous moment), Alastor turned to you then and offered you his arm, his salacious wink only causing you to have to bite your lip to stifle the giggle that threatened to spill forth. 

He was ridiculous. 

The whole thing was ridiculous… and you were happy, a rare moment in otherwise trying times. 

Alastor threw open the door in such a flamboyant manner that it caught the other person on the other side off guard enough that they jumped back slightly. You looked to see a relatively short, older gentleman with fine graying hair and a rather horrendous mustache there. His suit was pressed but undoubtedly not made of the same finer material as Alastor’s, and the angry tick that was pulsing in the man's forehead did nothing but cause an odd feeling of self-esteem to bloom in your chest.

Alastor's ego was contagious it seemed. 

"No need to work yourself into a tantrum, my good man!" Alastor’s voice was airy and bright as he clapped the other man on the shoulder while simultaneously steering you past. "It's all yours, Henderson!" 

The man - Henderson - gave Alastor a weary look before doing a double-take at you, still clinging to Alastor's arm. Henderson's eyes widened slightly before jumping back to survey Alastor's face; the latter wore a closed mouth smile, although the sight of it was more unnerving than pleasant, as though Alastor was _baiting_ the other to snipe about a girl being in the station. 

Henderson clicked his tongue and merely pushed past Alastor as he moved into the studio; the door slammed shut behind him, but not before another string of profanity reached your ears. 

Alastor hummed slightly, the sound soft before he caught your gaze out of the corner of his eye. He flashed you a dazzling grin, one that unashamedly made a flicker of affection blossom in your chest.

“Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed.” You whispered before you went to bury your face within the silken fabric of his sleeve; to feel the muscle there, even with how thin he truly was, was enough to root you to the present and tell you that what you shared, what you would continue to share, was very much real. It would always be real and perhaps that was what made you finally give in and duck beneath his arms to wind your own around his narrow abdomen. 

Because for god’s sake, he was illogically tall.

Hugs were innocent things, but they often contained a lot of powerful emotions that words simply couldn’t express. Fear for the future, excitement for what was to come, affection for the man that you clung to - it was to be noted that you were affectionate; you always had been, and it would continue to be that way until he ended up inevitably pissing you off.

Because let’s face it, while he was ridiculously charming and you couldn’t do much more than swoon in his presence, he had the tendency to be infuriating at times. Plus relationship fights were a thing and hoo boy you were _not_ about to worry about that. Nope. Shoo those thoughts away. Just hug him. Feel him. Be with him. He was there. _He would always be there._

Where had this fear come from? Birthed from the depths of your mind? The thought of living a life without him, being in the places he had once been? Oh, there you were, sinking into that madness of worry and fear that manifested from the idea of facing this alone. _No, you wouldn’t be alone,_ you argued. He had told you that many times, but somehow it still hadn’t been drilled into your mind. Perhaps it was because everything had been going so astonishingly quick. 

After all, it had one been a little more than three weeks since your traipse with him. 

You barely noticed how tightly you were squeezing him until suddenly your own muscles began to cramp from the intensity. Instantly, you eased up on him and let out a soft ‘Sorry’ before pressing your cheek into his chest. Taking a deep inhale of his scent - leather, coffee, cedar - you finally relaxed enough to practically melt into him. Hm. Coffee. 

Wasn’t it crazy how the mind worked? One minute you were two seconds away from going absolutely batshit crazy and now you were thinking about coffee. You were more of a tea person, but hey, to each their own. “How do you like your coffee?” You raised your head to crane your neck up and rest your chin upon him. 

“I think that’s something I should know, don’t you think, _Mr. Beauchamp?”_ If anyone would have said you would have been a flirt in your life before the time you had met him, you would have laughed and told them that they didn’t know you at all. “Milk? Half-n-half? Sugar? Or black as your soul?” 

You couldn’t hide the snort-laugh if you had tried.

In spite of your genuine laugh, Alastor caught the inner turmoil you had just waded through, his keen gaze catching the tension in your form, not to mention that bone crushing hug you had inflicted against him. Never one to be outdone, Alastor linked his arms around your waist a little tighter and brought you into another tight hug; your cheek smooshed once again to the hard planes of his lean chest, his heartbeat resounding with a steady _ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum_ in your ear. 

Needless to say, it was easy to lull you back into a rather comfortable silence. 

"I prefer it black, sweetheart," his voice was light despite the open emotion behind his touch. "Not that you need to worry too much, I never had much desire for a coy housewife." 

A part of him hoped you understood the meaning behind his choice of words, although he pressed a chaste kiss to the corner of your mouth, as if worried the limits of his still developing affection wasn't quite clear enough. Alastor drew back enough to tap the end of your nose with a wink, his eyes crinkling at the corners - in a way that made him devastatingly handsome - to show that your mirth had not been missed. 

"Although speaking as such, oh darling future wife of mine," Alastor couldn't help but simper down to you, hands coming to squish your cheeks together so your lips puckered slightly; your eyebrows in return creasing together in a particularly unamused expression. "Given the time, I should escort you back home." 

Within the next moment, in his usual dazzling display of frantic movement, he shifted away from you and laced his fingers with your own. With a small tug, he once more moved you forward, this time down the hallway and towards the stairwell.

Even when he wasn’t being aggressive, he definitely didn’t know his own strength and, bringing your free hand to your jaw, you rubbed it (even though you were being more dramatic than the truth of it actually not hurting whatsoever) while he led you down the staircase. 

“‘Kay,” you lamely responded, far after a response was required. You had grown so accustomed to the hustle and bustle of the life he brought you that you found it super, super weird that it was quiet down the steps. 

Your shoes and his own echoed down the stairway, the dim lighting something that you had dismissed previously now a direct reminder of the spookiness that seemed to follow him. 

Flexing your hand in his grip, you tightened it slightly before finally, you reached the bottom of the steps and, briefly looking behind you to find it empty, and then below you, also empty, you stopped at the ground-level and attempted to pull him towards you. 

“Stay with me,” you whispered, as if the echo would be a dead give-away to the secrets you shared amongst the silver-colored and concrete walls. If the walls could talk, what secrets could they spill? “I don’t want to sleep without you,” you stood on your tippy-toes to press a kiss to his chin. In such a short amount of time, your strength in sleeping alone had all but disappeared - you had quickly become dependent on him to be there in a physical reminder of the comfort he brought.

Also because he was really fucking warm. 

Ooh, you couldn’t wait until winter. Snuggling with him during the first frost, just before a roaring fire? _Yes please._

Alastor's mouth quirked slightly to one side, his smirk undeniable but soft all the same. He didn't think he would grow tired of your clear devotion and affection any time soon...

“Hmm, do I have to climb in through the window again?” He was gloriously deadpan, despite the smirk still gracing his dark features.

_Lord almighty, he really was a handsome devil, sure to tempt you into anything-_

You couldn't help the matching smirk that spread across your face, “Yes,” you purred, still nuzzling what parts of his face you could reach from your stance. “But only because you look so _good_ doing it.”

Alastor's laughter was clear and strong, reverberating in the hollow space of the stairwell. It echoed almost eerily, the sound catching your ears and then seeming to ring in your head. It made the hairs on the back of your arms stand up, as though some instinctual warning bell was sounding in your subconscious; however, you were much too caught up in _him_ and the moment to pay much mind to anything more than the thought of getting home and snuggling up to him under your covers.

When the man had finally calmed himself (the drama queen that he was), he theatrically wiped away the tears of mirth that had gathered in his eyes before turning his full attention back to you. 

You were a fine distraction, full of entertaining impulses and hedonistic tendencies that kept him on his toes; although Alastor had been more than happy to return to his place of work and take his mind of other forms of ‘entertainment’, he had been fighting a losing battle against the tell-tale prickling of energy under his skin and the rising compulsion to cause a little chaos to those who deserved it when you had surprised him during his program time.

And while he knew eventually he would have to address such tendencies (the voices of his Loa left no room for argument), in fact even now, Alastor could see the shadowy form he cast just off to the side beginning to elongate, his own shadow stirred by his raucous laughter and the spike of energy in the atmosphere -

Clearing his throat and waving an airy hand, Alastor moved so that he would draw your eye away from the suspicious inky mass growing and leeching across the walls. He took your face in both hands, so that once again your cheeks squished slightly, making your mouth pout in such a way that made him unable to resist ghosting his lips against yours.

“Of course I'll stay, sweetheart.” He cooed to you, tone tender and soft as though he too wished for it not to spread past the confinement of the stairwell. After all, a certain nosy receptionist was most likely still at her post at the front desk; Bertha often only left once the last air personality had signed off for the night and the station was dark and locked up. 

Your face lit up in a grin, as if you were no more than a child on Christmas that had finally gotten a pony. Oh ho, he wouldn’t be able to save himself now that he had agreed to it; screw his personal bubble for the time being - and while you often respected it - _he was yours._

“Nuh takesies backsies!” Your voice was muffled through the grip he still had on your poor cheeks, and you only reached up in an attempt to rival him, your own fingers, delicate in comparison to his calloused fingertips, squeezing against his own cheeks to pucker his lips, although it didn’t do much other than cause his grin to grow and those perfectly white teeth to become visible. You let out a huff of defeat. 

Although, the moment was ruined when you saw the time on the clock, said clock _tick, tick, ticking_ away to a tune that was more obnoxious than actually helpful. 10:43. A gasp was echoed through the dimly lit stairwell before you finally brought your gaze back to his own. “Yuu didn’twell me— will yu—“ you brought your hands back to try to pry his own away from your face. After a long moment of you (playfully) wrestling with him to get him to politely _fuck off,_ you finally were able to rid yourself of his hand on your face. 

“First off, _ow.”_ You muttered, rubbing your jaw for the _second_ time in the span of ten minutes. “Second, it’s 10:43.” You pointed to the clock. “And THIRD!” You raised your voice as if you were truly upset with him; spoiler alert: you weren’t, you were just pulling his leg. Hopefully the injured one, the bastard. “You’re going to give me a piggyback ride outside.” A grin formed against your face in a similar style to the Grinch, if it had only existed during your time. “I gotta do something.” 

Your soul was practically erupting in villainous laughter, while you were in a metaphorical chair, spinning around and petting a white, fluffy cat named ‘Fluffy’. 

Alastor's eyes widened slightly at your proposition – momentarily forgetting the rather _adorable_ display of you attempting to squish his face in retaliation (there would be time to mock your tiny stature later, of course) – after all, he couldn't remember the last time he had given anyone a piggy back ride, not since childhood anyway and even then, friends had been limited...

He eyed your form, front teeth coming to worry his bottom lip in a moment of hesitation as his mind drifted to the baby in your belly; the paternal side of him, which seemed to be growing stronger as his pride adapted to this new role, wanted to ensure you had a healthy, easy pregnancy. On the other hand, he had an inkling he was in for a rather marvellous show if he indulged you in your clearly overbold motives.

“Alright, little darling,” Alastor crooned, the beguiling smirk on his face telling you quite simply he was fondly giving in to your impish demands. “But I do believe you'll need an extra boost, hop up a few steps and jump - _carefully._ ” His tone sharpened at the first sign of you wanting to roll your eyes at his directions.

While normally the thought of someone coming into harm's way would be a high value diversion, the man felt a slight spike of anxiety over the thought of you miss-stepping, as irrational as it was. As though called forth based on the rush of emotional energy, his shadow which was thrown behind him on the nearest wall, undulated slightly, travelling slightly to cover the floor –

“Right!”Alastor clapped his hands then, keeping your gleeful eyes trained on him and not the mass of inky darkness currently doing its best The Blob impression. “Quickly, the night is not so young!” 

Quickly, quickly he said, and if your eyes could have rolled harder, they would have slipped straight out of your sockets. Though, your excitement did manage to appease your minute frustrations with him rushing you, and climbing onto the step above him, you put your hands onto his shoulders to brace yourself before pulling yourself onto him, a giggle escaping your lips as you felt his hands instinctively grasp the back of your thighs to keep your right where you were. 

“Onward! Mighty steed!” It was practically yelled straight into his ear - poor guy - and in that moment, it was _painfully_ obvious that you and Ruth were siblings. 

You pointed straight towards the rusted door, and for a brief moment, your childhood memories were once again relived; of course, until the two of you entered the main lobby and you were greeted with none other than the sickeningly _fresh_ smell. Ugh. And then there she was. UGH! You leaned your head over his shoulder: “Wanna see something funny?” 

Before he had time to properly react, and thankfully because he was turned towards Fart-a, you shoved your hands out in front of him and flipped off the royal bitch (she wasn’t actually - you were just petty) _two_ times. One on each finger. 

“Have a nice night, Bertha!” 

The poor woman in question pulled up short and stared, mouth open in disbelief as the two of you passed, your frame still clinging to Alastor's back looking for all the world like a smug toddler strapped to a mother's back. 

Perhaps it was because your choice of goodbye caught him so off guard (he'd make sure to apologize on your behalf with a bouquet of flowers and some good ol' fashioned Creole charm during his next shift) -

Or maybe it was the warmth radiating off your body as you remained pressed to him, your thighs squeezing his trim waist in mimicry of the actions you had so recently shared in - 

Or, perhaps it was elation in finally gaining himself a rightful partner in crime, all too willing to take on the exciting adventures life had to offer by his side; Alastor's laughter bubbled up, wild and carefree, nearly uncontainable in his obvious glee. It filled the nearly empty lobby like some invisible specter, your own mad giggles joining the cacophony of noise as the pair of you burst out the main door and stumbled down the front steps. 

The night air was fresh and crisp, especially after the stale atmosphere of the station, Alastor's shadow trailing suspiciously further behind him as the man packed you off in the direction of _home_.


	15. Something Wicked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ⚠️ Warning(s) ⚠️: Explicit sexual content, possibly upsetting descriptions, mentions of murder, active murder, Alastor being Alastor.

By the time you had reached the double doors to exit the building, you had been expecting to be put down and be escorted the rest of the way considering that your house was only a block or so away. Alastor had always been, for as much as you knew, the type to care about the public eye and giving a girl a piggy-back ride in the dead of the night had, and never would be, the prime choice of convincing that you were a capable adult. At least you apparently looked like a child. 

You nearly curled your lip. 

“Thank you for the ride,” you joked softly as you rested your chin upon his shoulder. “You truly are the mightiest of steeds.” Your lips found the juncture between his neck briefly to place a kiss upon it, your voice no more than a murmur within the night. “But don’t think you’re getting an apology for flipping her off. She pissed me off. She said I looked-” _Fourteen. “-_ twelve!” You cried in exasperation, almost throwing your hands in the air before remembering where you were.

You settled them around his chest again and instead leaned to press yourself closer to him. Looking young was a compliment for some, but with your height, you had always attempted to appear _your age._

“Hmn… Maybe I should frown more. I’ll get wrinkles that way, and then they can’t call me a child anymore.” At this point you were mostly talking to yourself, trying desperately to convince yourself that having a piggyback ride was in no way whatsoever childish. You weren’t complaining about that, no, not at all, and perhaps his tendency of being overdramatic had begun to rub off on you. “What do you think?”

Alastor hummed low in response, although strongly enough that you could feel the vibration even though you still clung to his back. His hands had not left their grip against your legs, spidery fingers curled gently just behind the crook of each knee. 

He was aware you were talking (babbling really...your nervous quirks were endearing if nothing else) but the ringing in his ears was growing steadily louder, to the point Alastor could feel his concentration slipping - he had been fighting against certain bonds for much too long - 

After all, what Alastor had originally thought to simply be leftover din filling his head after your shared joyous laughter, now became glaringly obvious to be anything but. Urgent whispers filled his head, perspiration breaking out at his temples as he fought to keep his attention in this plane of the living world. 

He had ignored the desire for chaos and bloodshed too long, the hunger inside of him trapping him in his more animalistic tendencies. It was a rarity and one that only occurred when he ignored certain aspects of his pact with the spirit world...

As his Loa murmured _wonderfully_ horrible ideas, he could think of nothing more than making sure you were tucked away safely, before stalking out into the night...he shifted you enough to rescue your hold, before mentally shaking himself.

"Nonsense, darling," the man murmured, voice cracking in an unfamiliar show of strain. "You're a real belle." 

Despite you previously playing around with the idea of looking older than you actually were, the proposal of frowning had been more of a peeved off joke than a possible reality. It caused you to freeze and lean over his shoulder as much as you could to look at him (although you could only really look to the side of his face as he looked straight ahead; jaw squared and tense) in an effort to observe your first instinct.

“Are you gonna cry?” You gasped, genuine surprise crossing your face. Of _course_ you would immediately launch yourself at the most plausible reaction. “I mean I would get it if I got you fired, but you didn’t. Sooo…” you trailed off, the playful mood dimming slightly as you cleared your throat awkwardly at the sudden epiphany. “D-did I go too far? Are you mad?” 

Mad in the emotional sense, most likely not; but eventually you would come to find that he was most certainly mad in another way. For now, however, you were blissfully unaware of the dangerous enigma you had somehow tamed into a lover. 

“Ladies and gentlemen,” you squashed your cheek against his, “-the suspense is real.”

At the touch of your skin to his, a small spark of static electricity zipped between the two of you, just enough to make you pull back just slightly; still holding you close, Alastor's lithe form have a great shudder (as if the shock of energy had continued to linger in his musculature)

The ringing in his ears abruptly ended, the sudden silence almost pressing in physically on his ear drums. Within seconds, the rush of the world around the two of you came back in full force; Alastor could pick up the noise from the trolley just a few streets over, and just beyond that the rough crank of a car engine firing to life. 

A faint breeze carried in the evening air, bringing with it the familiar scent of the old cobblestones and some spicy, tangy dish that must have been simmering behind a closed door nearby, but beyond all this, the evening seemed to be wholly _just_ the two of you once again. 

Briefly, with his mental capacities slowly returning to him, Alastor couldn’t help by muse that despite it all, of the familiarity and enticing atmosphere that enveloped his beloved city, it was the touch of your smooth cheek next to his that had brought him back - You were, once again, proving to be the one thing that could keep Alastor grounded when the constraints of his practices came back to press in on him...

“No, sweetheart.” Alastor sounded just bright as he always did, although you thought you could note a slight twinge of exhaustion in his tone. 

“I'm not mad. Far from it,” he gave you a small yet quick bump, his back buckling as though he meant to toss you like some horse, so your smaller frame jostled against him, your legs automatically tightening to help keep you secured. “I won't hesitate to say that may have been my most entertaining shift yet!”

Your arms moved to grasp at his suit-jacket as he moved forward, a small huff escaping your lips in tandem to the _abuse_ he put you through (in truth, there was no such thing, but you had always been the type to adopt certain traits when they aided you, and this time it just so happened to be his recurring theme of drama). “Is that-“ you paused just as that creeping feeling of a yawn pried your jaws apart; scrambling to regain purchase against him, you rested your chin on his shoulder. 

“‘S that so?” It was easy to say that while you may have not been the type to fall victim to sleep until late night, growing a whole ass person was kicking your ass. The passing street lamps had a soft glow to them as you fought against the desire to shut your eyes for only a moment - you could see your house lights just down the street, you were almost there. 

However, what caught your attention the most in a manner that caused you to raise your head slightly, was a passing shop that was titled ‘O’Connell’s Jewellery’ - the name, however, was not what had you gawk, but instead the sign that said that prices were at an all-time low _and_ they did custom cuts. “Is this a new shop?” You questioned aloud before continuing.

“Oh, wait, wait, lemme- let me down.” You unraveled your legs from him to peer through the window; there was a dim light that illuminated the on-show display, one that seemed to catch some of the diamonds that were in a protective case. However, when you stood on your tippy-toes, you gasped. “Al, look!” You whisper-yelled, jabbing your pointer finger at a band that had engravings of antlers on it. “Do you like that one?” 

The price read… _fifty_ dollars. 

You swallowed thickly. “Low prices my ass,” you crossed your arms, visibly deflating. 

Alastor came to stand behind you, his taller form looming over you even in the reflection of the darkened glass windows. You thought you caught his eyes lingering more on you than the actual ring, but before you could call him out on it, the man clicked his tongue, waved an airy hand and stepped away from a few paces. 

He turned back to you then, straight-backed with his arms folded behind him, looking heart-achingly perfect in the soft glow of the street lamps. 

"It's a fine ring to be sure," his smile was soft compared to the animated pattern of his speech. "But I don't need anything fancy to marry you, darling."

But alas, your mind was already racing to figure out a way to show him that he meant a lot more to you than some price-tag ring. Custom made were obviously going to be more expensive than regular bands, but if you could somehow gain more information, you could probably go to a blacksmith. 

There were still a few around town, but with how modernized the world was becoming, they were becoming rarer with each passing year. Getting married seemed like a long way to go, but with every day, you were closer and closer to the moment that you wouldn’t be able to hide the babe that grew in your belly. It all felt so… _surreal._ “Okay.” 

You turned around and smiled softly at him; affection evident in every motion and fragment of your body, down to the very atoms that created you. “I have a plan. Don’t worry about it.” You couldn’t hide the grin that was threatening to pull at the corners of your mouth. Step one: Find a blacksmith. Step two: Talk to said blacksmith. Shouldn’t be too difficult. 

Perhaps you would bring Ruth with you as well. 

How long had it been since you had seen New Orleans the way it was meant to be seen? Far before the death of your mother, for sure. 

Reaching out your hand in an effort to persuade him to give you his own, you brought his knuckles to your lips; a sentimental emotion rolling through you like some tidal wave. “My ring on your finger and our babe in your arms,” you whispered, repeating the same phrase he had with you only a night ago. You closed your eyes and pressed a kiss to his ring finger. 

“Éternité.” 

_Éternité._

The word repeated in Alastor’s ears, the soft touch of your lips to his hand, nothing compared to the voices murmuring in his ear again; what had once calmed him, now seemed to only feed, to stoke the fire churning achingly in his gut...

"Éternité..." Alastor murmured, his voice hitching slightly in a way that seemed to _crest_ more than crack; the sound of whispers had come swarming back, now raised in such a feverous, almost startling pitch in his head, buzzing like static - 

Nearby, one of the street lamps blew, the soft 'pop' just loud enough to startle both of you; Alastor's hand tightened its grip on your own, his fingers almost crushing your much smaller, daintier hand. His trim fingernails left slight crescent moon indents against the flesh of your palm, although neither of you noticed at the moment. 

You had peered around at the noise, seeking the source, while gulping in a few deep breaths to calm your stuttering pulse.

Perhaps it was your overtired state or the hormones - or some ungodly mixture of the two - but the small hairs at the nape of your neck remained standing up, goosebumps rippling over your form. You weren't one to be so jumpy, but the moment prior had been so emotionally tender (for you, at least) that the sudden change in the atmosphere had put you on edge. 

And seemingly, not just you. 

Before you, Alastor stood rim-rod straight, his nostrils flared and his broad shoulders hunching in a manner than made his long, lithe form look oddly misshapen in the now gloomy light of the street. The wind shifted, tussling his tresses and seeming to bring him back to focus. 

"Almost there, darling." The man said, his voice stronger than it had been before, although still not full of his usual charm.

Alastor's warm hand shifted, and if either of you were thrown by the stiffness that followed his clamp-like grip, neither of you turned attention on it as Alastor tugged you forward, the lights of your family home acting as a beacon in the dimness. 

It didn’t take the two of you too long to reach the front door, although the rest of the walk had been left in silence as he pulled you along in his easily-outpacing-you stride. One time you thought to stick your shoe beneath this to playfully trip him up because let’s face it, he was probably just going as quickly as he was because he was just as petty as you were. 

Although, the more you thought about it, the more it didn’t fit together; like some puzzle that had nearly created a beautiful scene before the players came to realize that they were missing a piece. 

But as the two of you stood in front of the entrance, you finally noticed the tightened grip he had on you (something that was not akin to reassurance because _now_ it was starting to hurt a bit) and offered him a squeeze in hopes to deter him from whatever the fuck was going on in his mind. “Do you remember how to get up?” Sure, you could sneak him in the regular way, but where was the excitement in that? The _adrenaline?_

At the squeeze of your hand, Alastor gave another small shudder, seemingly completely subconsciously; in an effort to disguise yet another slip in his usually fail-safe facade, the man gave you a quick reassuring squeeze back, before pulling you into a gentle spin.

Your pleated skirt flared as he pulled you in closer, his nose coming to rest on the tip of yours. One warm hand landed in the dip of your side, thumb caressing just under your ribs, gently ticklish even through the layer of your blouse.

Face to face now (if you ignored the fact that he had to bend _more_ than slightly to reach you) and posed like some dancing pair, the man flashed you an alarmingly alluring smirk; butterflies erupted in your belly despite the weird tension that still existed between you two.

Thankfully, his grip had lightened, some of Alastor’s usual glimmer of good humour shining in his dark eyes as he pulled back to look down at you. 

"When we're married, am I allowed to use the door?" His lips twitched, hinting at his jesting. "Or am I doomed to forever scale walls for you, my darling?"

Even in moments of good humor, he made you giddy; experience with men had never been an immediate concern, unlike what your father claimed you to need - but such a thing was with every family. It was one of the reasons (that you could guess) made him accept the inevitable fact that you had your own life that you needed to sort through. You couldn’t always be daddy’s little girl; Ruth was for that. Still though, that was a title that you weren’t _completely_ willing to give up just yet. 

That being said, you were getting a bit off track and so you found yourself leaning into him to adorn him with your own brand of personal affection; lips sealing against the corner of his mouth, you even went so far as to rub your noses together when you pulled back. “Yes,” you whispered - although, to which question you were answering was unknown. “Until you build me that nest, I’m merely a flightless hatchling, no?” You winked before a soft giggle fell from you.

When that faded away, you shook your head.

“When we’re married,” you looked up to meet his eyes, the light of the street lamps causing those dark hues to appear almost golden. Where light-eyed folks may have been able to possess the color of raging seas, his own had the ability to form earthquakes at your feet; a beautiful man, and one you selfishly wanted to hoard away. “My home will be your home. You won’t need to hide, unless you like that sort of thing.”

Weirdo.

Alastor chuckled, now much more adept at identifying when your teasing was gentle, the sound deep and rich; some strange emotion flashed in his eyes, one you couldn't quite place but then again, the man was an emotional enigma. 

_Emotionally constipated, more like._

His arms moved to wrap securely around you, pulling you flush against him, more than happy to ignore that fact that the pair of you were clearly visible on the walkway - some part of him thrilled at the idea of your neighbour's peeping on him cradling you like this, so sinfully against social norms. 

Alastor tipped his head to yours once more, lips tracing along the seam of your mouth. 

"Darling, if you _only knew_ -" 

And then he surged his mouth fully to yours, firm and confident in his actions. You gasped slightly against him, more out of reflex than anything, and Alastor took the advantage, moving to catch your bottom lip between his teeth before his tongue darted out to taste you. One hand moved from your waistline to cradle the back of your head, fingers threading in your silky strands. 

He quickly had you breathless and, as much as your pride hated to admit it, like putty in his arms as he deepened the kiss. You remained locked in his embrace for several long moments, swaying slightly in place as your hands moved to greedily fist in the material of his shirt, the lean planes of his chest evident beneath your fingertips. 

When Alastor finally relinquished his hold, hand slipping from your hair to land at the nape of your neck, you both took to sucking in deep breaths. You could feel the apples of your cheeks burning, sure you were glowing more vividly than the street lamps. Alastor’s eyes were crinkled at the corners, his grin nearly splitting his handsome features. 

"Away to your tower, fair Juliet," he gave you a rather roguish wink, his voice rising dramatically. "And wait for me at your window." 

The man pressed one last quick kiss to the corner of your mouth before he spun gracefully on his heel and disappeared into the gloom of the night, traipsing off in the direction of the stashed ladder. 

You stood there for what felt like forever, a bit lost in the moment before you realized that your hand had risen to trace your index finger along your bottom lip; a grin pushing at the corners of your lips before you let out a slightly nervous laugh as he disappeared off into the shadows, swathed in mystery. 

The tendrils of the trees silhouetted that curled near the shed suddenly tapped at the brick and plastic… or whatever the hell it was made of. You weren’t a construction worker.

Still, being left alone made a chill run up your spine, and almost instinctively, you rested your hand on the knob of the door and twisted it - warmth greeted you from the nearly constant fireplace that roared to life the moment that you tended to it. 

That was one of your jobs around the house, to ensure that the chill of the night wouldn’t enter the home, but to say you had been lacking on that particular task wouldn’t be far from the truth. Leaning back outside, you gripped the doorway and reached towards the log-holder situated conveniently.

Coming to the conclusion that you wouldn’t be able to pick one up without two hands, you sighed and finally caved, stepping outside to grab a smaller of the stack and carry it inside. The rough texture was enough to at least bring you back to the present, and closing the door behind you by kicking it with your heel-

“Did you lock the door?”

You nearly screamed, dropping the log onto the ground and sending loose pieces flying here and there. Thankfully, it wasn’t carpeted, so picking up the wood chips wasn't difficult, it was the fact that when you had the log slip out of your grip, a splinter had lodged its way into your thumb. You scowled down at the mess, before letting out a groan.

“I was just going to do that, daddy.” You murmured, kneeling down to start the process. 

You snuck a glance up to find him smoking a cigar in his chair, a glass of some amber liquid - whiskey - on the end table. He never drank. You didn’t even know there _was_ liquor in the house. Brushing it off, you cleared your throat and continued silently. 

“You know how I feel about the current events, pumpkin.” He sounded tired, and honestly, you didn’t blame him. Other than it being late, he had been through more than you could even begin to understand. He was your idol for having a strength that you doubted you could ever possess, wisdom beyond his years. 

“I know. I know. It’s just a habit, y’know?” You placed your hand on your knee, your other hand full of the wood chips, before you picked yourself up, bent down, and grabbed the log. Before this had occurred, locking doors in the suburbs was almost unheard of. Everyone knew everyone else. 

But now it was different. 

Turning around briefly, you locked the door before tossing a frown at your thumb. The splinter didn’t necessarily _hurt_ , it just felt uncomfortable, an intruder, but perhaps that was because you had been through worse. Walking into the living room, you walked past your father and carefully tossed the log into the flame.

You stepped back in time to watch as the ember spat out. Thankfully, the carpet was pulled back in a rectangular fashion around the fireplace to ensure that there wouldn’t be a fire hazard. However, you couldn’t brush the feeling of him staring at you, and before you could open your mouth to say something along the lines of knowing that he was disappointed in you, but asking if it could wait until the morning-

“Do you know how much you look like your mother?” 

You froze. Your mother? Yes, you knew how much you looked like her, you knew how much he had trouble looking at you when she had first passed; you knew why he spent ridiculously long days at work, sometimes not even returning home, jumping at the first opportunity of a out-of-town meeting, why he had been excited to leave New Orleans. 

As if someone had struck you with an iron sword straight through the heart - your mother had been your everything, even if she had always been traditional and sometimes infuriating - and to have her stripped away from you in a few months time, you very nearly stopped breathing. “Mom?” Your voice cracked, and you finally braved the storm to look at him. 

He would never talk about your mother so openly. 

Not when he ran away from it so many times before.

“You’re intoxicated.” You breathed, before your expression hardened. “Go to bed, dad.” Your father was a good father, but he was not perfect in any sense, and he too succumbed to the easier ways of escaping the stresses of life. He was only human. “And if you want to talk about mom, if you’re _ready_ to talk about mom in the morning, we can. But not now.” 

“Not now.” He repeated.

“Not now.” You confirmed it a bit softer.

To see a grown man tear up was something that you rarely saw, society painting them, _raising_ them to be emotionless, strong protectors. With a sigh, you walked over and took the glass away, before leaning over to press your lips to his forehead in passing. “Goodnight, I love you.” You whispered, before moving to the kitchen and setting the glass in the sink. 

“Night.”

Running a hand through your hair, you forcefully exhaled in a release of tension and opened the cabinet to grab the first aid kit. Did you even _have_ tweezers? 

Sorting through the items, you rolled your bottom lip between your teeth absentmindedly before closing the lid and putting it back. Inspecting it once again, you concluded with astounding finality that it was deep in there and no amount of picking at it would get it out. You knew what you _could_ use to get it out, but you would have to be careful with it. 

Your father was paranoid at the thought of losing either of you, understandably, and at the idea of him leaving days at a time occasionally, it caused him to trust in you with a switchblade for self defense. It was beneath your bed in a box, of course. No amount of monsters under your bed would save them from your switchblade, thank you very much.

Needless to say, it didn’t take you long to reach your room, and you were instantly greeted with the overwhelming darkness of the night, although your window was open which offered a blue hue. _Was he sitting in the dark?_ You could see Alastor’s silhouette sitting on your bed, and so walking towards the lamp, you pulled the chain down to illuminate the room. 

He had been sitting in the dark. 

“God, you’re really somethin’ else.” You made a face before you walked over to the side of your bed and, just as you were about to reach him, you kneeled down and began to pat your hand to try to feel for the box. “Come on, where is it…”

The man in question remained seated on your bed, watching you with slightly narrowed dark eyes, his mouth edging dangerously into pout territory. 

Yes, Alastor had been loitering in the darkness

Yes, he was being petty. 

No, he didn't particularly care.

After all, Alastor had given you a rather promising kiss, sure to have left you properly breathless and needy (for _him_ ). Furthermore, he had been hoping you might have caught his rather daring entrance, ingrained showmanship driving him to catch your attention at all times.

It had been quite the performance; having grown restless, it had been all too tempting to give in to his need for constant motion. 

Therefore, with all the grace of the apex predator he truly was, Alastor had been able to make the jump from the shed roof to the side of the house without the aid of the old ladder, using his height and upper body strength to hoist himself up on the ledge until he had purchase enough to get his feet beneath him. It had taken little more than one final, strong push and the man had given your window a shimmy to open it before creeping through. 

Only to find your room dark and empty, a note of bitter disappointment flaring in his chest, which still lingered as Alastor watched you now, your frame still prone on the floor. 

Then again, perhaps if you had witnessed his antics, you might have wondered just why he was so graceful, so agile at heaving himself up to such a height, or how he could so effortlessly ease a window open, long limbs aiding him in quietly infiltrating the room, footsteps so soft no one downstairs had heard him make the small trek across to your mattress.

Now, as Alastor watched you wriggle around on the floor, clearly searching for something, he felt slightly vindicated in letting you struggle for a short while longer before, with a roll of his eyes, he shifted so that his form was decidedly in your line of view. 

"Dearest," Alastor purred to you, sure you'd at least look up at him. He was more than aware of the effect his words had on you at times. 

"While I certainly never mind seeing you on your knees-" 

You responded by throwing an old knitted slipper your fingers landed upon at him, returning to your search; you heard him give a small 'oof' before you returned to your task. 

"Darling..." Alastor's tone was offended in nature; when you continued to ignore him, the man finally moved, heaving some great sigh as though he was off to the gallows rather than merely being ignored. 

He had the audacity to nudge you with his foot, cap-toed shoe landing just short of your hip bone. While it was more than gentle, the effort behind it was more than enough to slightly move your form to the side. Before you could snap at him (the baby!), Alastor had dropped to his knees, one long arm moving to sweep under the bed. 

"What are you searching for, you silly dame?" Alastor murmured, neck turning so he could eye you from the corner of his gaze. His fingertips lit on a wooden lid of some small box, and with a hunch, he swiftly pulled it out from under the mattress. 

With a glint in his eye that looked suspiciously like pride, Alastor dropped the box into your lap as you settled down criss-cross on your floor. He moved until he was resting fully on his knees then, looming over you slightly with his mouth pursed forward as if expecting a kiss of thanks in return. 

You quirked an eyebrow up at him, before letting a soft laugh tumble from your lips. “Thank you kindly,” you half-whispered, although you were too far in the desire to get the splinter out of your finger that you barely noticed his very blatant longing for kisses. Your eyes fell back down to the box before you ran your hand over the cardboard. A thin amount of dust had collected on it from the time it had spent beneath your bed. 

“I was carrying in a log of wood for the fireplace,” you explained before moving to pry the box open. Setting it aside, you peered down and grabbed the handle of the content inside, before taking it out and showing the knife to him. “And I got a splinter. My dad was still awake - he’s been paranoid ever since these murders have started.” You pushed down onto the button to have the blade swing out. 

“So by some chance that whoever is doing it comes into the house while he’s away, I can protect Ruth and I.” A tight smile found it’s way upon your lips, and you found yourself struggling to not let your mind slip to what went bump in the night. Every other night for as long as you could remember there had been a murder, but for whatever reason, the killer had stopped for the past few days. Still - everyone was on their toes. “What do you think abou— HEY!” 

Just before you could bring the knife to your finger, it was snatched out of your grasp. 

Alastor sat back on his hunches a little more, his height easily allowing him to keep the small blade out of your reach as you moved to petulantly swipe for it. He snapped it closed, before clicking it open once again, the blade swinging on the hinge with a soft click, moving to twist it as though he was inspecting it closely.

“Do you even know how to hold it, darling?” Alastor practically purred to you, although his gaze lingered on the blade in his palm as it gleamed in the soft light of your room; his dark eyes glinted with horribly suppressed glee.

You crossed your arms over your chest, sitting back to glare softly at him, although you didn't quite have the heart to lay into him, given the fact that the damn splinter was still lodged in your hand. You knew he would want to be petty and get back at you for ignoring him so, but damn if now wasn't the time.

“It's not that difficult, Al,” you couldn't help the slight teasing tone from entering your voice. “You stab with the pointy end right?”

Across from you, Alastor's face split into a true shit-eating grin, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he manoeuvred the knife in his long fingers; he took the moment to be a showboat (because of course), twirling the knife between each digit, the blade clicking in and out rapidly as he swung it around. It landed flat in his palm once more with one last chintzy clink, one of Alastor's eyebrows raised as though he had hoped for a round of applause.

_The idiot._

Instead, there was a short beat as you waited to see if he was done with his moment of theatrics before you gently rolled your eyes at his antics.

“Okay Paul Bunyan,” you snarked at him, arms uncrossing so you could raise your injured hand to show him properly. “Since you're so skilled with a blade, you can play doctor and dig it out for me.” You tried to sell it with a wink that you hoped matched the sleazy ones he often sent your way, your lips twitching into a grin that belayed your teasing.

Alastor offered you the palm that wasn't holding the knife, hand flat and wide; you laid your hand there, motioning with your other pointer finger to where the offending chunk of wood was nestled beneath your skin.

“It hurts...” you murmured quietly, surprised by the soft note of apprehension in your voice. Suddenly, facing the prospect of having a sharp blade digging into your hand was less than appealing, even if the procedure was far from some major medical one.

Alastor hummed in a rather comforting manner, his own fingers giving your wrist a comforting squeeze before his other hand moved so that the blade popped open once more. He brought the tip right to where the sliver sat, his eyes flickering to your face one last time as his tongue came to peek out between his front teeth, although you weren't sure if his sudden show was a true concern or more of his usual tom-foolery.

With a flash of silver, your hand stung and a small splash of crimson beaded up to roll into the creases of your palm, blood already beginning to coagulate where the blade had quickly and effortlessly cut through. Even though the cut itself was shallow, you sucked in a deep breath, not quite expecting Alastor to act so fast, so _knowledgeable_ ; before you could say something, said man was already pressing a fabric pocket-handkerchief to your hand, one you recognized as one of the few he seemed to rotate having on his person.

Your blood bloomed as though some intricate patchwork, staining the cloth with a few small splotches here and there. Your eyes lingered on it as Alastor moved it to the side, while he bent his face closer to your hand to make sure all the pieces of wood had been removed. He dabbed once or twice more, softly wiping away from the small clot that had bubbled up.

Dark eyes once more jumped to your face, and some strange look filtered over Alastor's handsome features; if you thought to question it, it was lost from your fleeting thoughts as he turned your hand back over so his lips could press gently against the tops of your knuckles, once again playing the pivotal role of your knight in shining armor (although you would never tell _him_ that) _._

Your eyes followed the path that his mouth traced, lips ending at the pulse point in your wrist; you missed him tucking the soiled cloth back into the pocket of his slacks, folded conscientiously as if to keep it for another time.

“All better, sweetheart?” Alastor crooned, his voice as slick as oil, causing a pleasant tingle to travel down your spine amidst your internal tantrum.

_Did you even know how to use a knife. Pah._

You were a petty creature, that was for damn sure, so much so that you had to actually bite back your response that had been cooking at a low heat in your mind for the past five minutes. Yes, you knew how to use a knife! You and practically every single woman on earth were forced to labor around the kitchen, cutting up the onions, tomatoes, spices, cut, cut _, cut._

You crinkled your nose before letting out a heavy exhale, shoulders slumping slightly. “Yes,” you hesitated before pulling your hand back from his own, the lack of warmth upon doing such a thing was almost catastrophic - but just as much as you knew about cutting, you knew how to disarm a man, too; while Alastor may have not found things ‘interesting’ as most men did, he was still very much a masculine force to be reckoned with. 

You readjusted to perch yourself upon your knees then, inching yourself closer before attempting to grab his wrists and gently trail your hands up the length of his arms; the cool fabric of his clothing crumpling in result of your touches. Now, you were by no means a person of experience, but as the two of you grew more comfortable with the other, the more you were willing to expand your horizons. That being said - 

“Thank you very much, Alastor…” You purred, that darkness, that teasing nature that he adorned like a golden cloak fit for his royal highness had begun to infect you whether you knew it or not. After all, it was inevitable with how much time you had spent with him. 

Your fingers had begun to creep towards his collar and unbutton it just enough so that you could ghost your lips over his flesh, never quite giving him what he wanted but finding the infuriated mess that followed that much funnier. You nuzzled into his neck but still, you never let your mouth touch his skin. 

“But you know,” your right hand began to slink to the back of his head in order to tease the thinner hairs there, going so far as to curl one around your index. “You really shouldn’t underestimate a woman,” you narrowed your eyes and brought your other hand down to the one that still held the knife - “ _Me...”_ You ran the tip of your nose against the column of his throat.

In the next moment, you had managed to snatch the switchblade out of his hand and lean back with a particularly proud expression. “Because then you get situations like these where you’re surprised that I can disarm an egg!” All women could. “Easy as pie. You boys are all the same.” It would be the understatement of the year if you confessed that you were just trying to rile him up because he had lowkey pissed you off.

Alastor remained where he was as if frozen, sitting back on his long legs so that his heels took most of his lithe weight. His eyes glittered with some untold emotion that made your tummy flutter with butterflies despite your somewhat sour mood. His lips quivered suspiciously, and you thought he might actually be _dumb_ enough to openly laugh at you; after a moment, Alastor's mouth relaxed back into a soft, closed-lipped smile.

Another strange beat of time passed between the two of you, your ire rising at the man across from you with every second. Alastor's eyes were wide and unblinking, and he was staring just slightly past you -

Alastor cleared his throat then, causing you to give a small start. His nostrils quivered slightly, the only sign he gave that he was perhaps a bit thrown off and perturbed at your lightening-quick mood swings, although he knew well enough it was the hormonal change happening in your body causing you to do so (he had taken to perusing Maggie's books on midwifery and childbirth on the nights he couldn't easily sleep).

Also mostly because it would be a cold day in Hell before _he_ would accept blame.

“No,” his voice was surprisingly guttural when he did finally speak after those several long moments, tone at odds with the rather passive look still on his face. His eyes trailed over your still prone form. “I suppose I shouldn't underestimate you...”

You gave him a once-over as if you were expecting to see some metaphorical leech sticking off of him and sucking away his personality - _repeating_ what you had said? Now that was a bit strange and uncharacteristic of a man who prided himself on being with it. Brushing it off as him being an oddball, you brought the box back onto your lap and, taking off the lid, placed the switchblade into it with a small ‘ _thump’._

“Well,” you sighed before pushing the box beneath your bed once again, the shadowy tendrils engulfing the minute silhouette it still had from the light that invaded the room. “I’m really tired.” Perhaps in due time you would need his helping hand to stand up from sitting down, but for now, your body only harbored the smallest of observations of an ongoing pregnancy. You brought your hands to your knee to help you up before you dusted yourself off in habit more than actual need. 

Due to the size differentiation, you barely had to lean down to press a kiss to his forehead. “I’ll be right back, stay here.” 

Before he could undoubtedly protest, you exited your room and, taking extra care to close the door behind you, let out a heavy sigh and ran a hand through your hair. Now, a tie and button-up wouldn't do for sleep, would it? In your mind, you were already convinced that he would wear whatever you gave him without much need for preening, but then again, preening was Alastor’s middle name. Licking your lips, you let go of the handle and ventured down the hall to the bathroom. 

There, you did your business and brushed your teeth, tidying up after yourself before moving back down until you reached the master bedroom door, tucked away into the furthest reaches of the floor and undoubtedly the biggest one there was. Entering such a sacred space was a no-no, but as your father was asleep downstairs after having one drink too many and your mother was… You bit your bottom lip as a pang of unsuspecting anguish rolled through you. 

The 1919 outbreak had been a tough one, and while it was nearly seven years past it, she had a compromised immune system. 

She had died only the year prior to the present moment due to bronchitis, and each day the pain was forcefully pushed away into the furthest recesses of your mind. You couldn’t remember a time where you had been able to truly mourn her loss - she had been your teacher, your friend, your everything, and she had left you with the tattered and worn puzzle pieces of a family that needed a rock.

You father was supposed to be that rock, the sole provider, the man of the family, but instead it seemed as though you had. Except for the man and provider part. You were just the stay-at-home sister. 

But what would happen when-

Shaking your head, you pushed through the onslaught of thoughts that you weren’t exactly ready to face and moved towards his closet, flicking on a light in passing. Cleaning was your job, and so stealing a shirt and leaving no trace of a disturbance was your _thing._ Still, your morals and conscience would have had you think you were stealing a prized authentic painting from a museum. It was plain in red coloration but something that your father wouldn’t miss.

Anything better than a button up. 

Naturally, it didn’t take you long to return to your room after ensuring the lights of the house had all been turned off and Ruth was sleeping (she was). When you turned the knob, you slid through the crack that was just big enough to let you in (because let’s face it, he was a pretty big secret), you quickly shut the door behind you.

“Okay, I’m back!” As if that hadn’t already been obvious, but you felt the need to announce it anyways, okay? Ooh, he was rubbing off on you hardcore. “Here,” you tossed the shirt towards him before turning your attention to your own bureau. “It might be a bit big, but it’s just a shirt. I don’t think that button-up is comfortable, but hey, what do I know?” Because you were just a woman. Your lip twitched.

_Mediocre, thick-skulled, idiotic, dick-thinking dewdroppers—_

“Oh, look,” a pad. You took it out and showed it to him as if he was mature enough to not get flustered over something as simple as that. “We won’t be needin’ these for awhile…” you muttered before putting it back into the drawer and continuing to dig through your pajamas. Eventually, you landed on a white cotton v-neck nightgown with long bell sleeves that ended in elastic cuffs, and a red one of the same brand. 

You held them up in front of you and turned around to face him expectantly. “Which one?” 

Alastor's eyes lingered on the skirt of your bedding before he finally tore his gaze away, blatantly ignoring the red shirt you had tossed his way – it lay in a lump, scarlet folds puddled on the floor. Instead, he took a moment to cast his eyes over the clothing you were holding up for his inspection -

As if he couldn't see from the corner of his eyes, the snake-like tendrils of inky shadow beginning to coil their way out from under your bed, drawn by the dim lighting and the slight scent of iron lingering in the air -

“Red,” Alastor murmured finally, some of his usual character coming back to his all too handsome face as he appraised your form more closely. “You look good in red, sweetheart.”

The man moved to his feet then, standing with much more grace than someone who had been kneeling in such an awkward position, and for so long, should have been capable of. One of his hands rose to scratch at his chin, as he circled around you, eyebrows raised appreciatively.

“I'm rather partial to the colour myself, you know.” Alastor's rich timbre washed over you as he came to stand just behind you, arms snaking around your waist so he could grab hold of the item in question, moving it so it draped over your front.

“It is the boldest, after all. Fiery heat, anger, and _passion_...” His lips ghosted against the shell of your ear, one hand dropping to the collar of your blouse that rested just below the nape of your neck, a silent question asked in his gentle hesitation. 

You looked down to his arms in momentary surprise, the baby-hairs along your temples tickling your flesh with each word he ghosted a whisper towards you. In the span of only a few weeks, the two of you had only been friends to something that you could only really assume was a hookup of sorts, and then before you could really begin to be more than that, you were engaged - and it all had to do with the creature that had only just began to start its life. 

Lips suddenly dry, you darted your tongue out to wet them before leaning back to lean against him, and perhaps see him from an angle that you would grow to love more. Infatuation was nothing compared to this - yes, you were linked, yes you found yourself swooning over him, but you cared for him in a manner that a crush simply couldn’t extend to. Genuine affection and longing for the man that stood just behind you, craving every touch he offered you, every kiss he pressed, every word he murmured to you behind closed doors. 

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were coming onto me.” You narrowed your eyes at him before letting out a soft exhale, the playfulness fading away as a wave of fatigue swept through you; the warmth of his arms, as lithe as they were, encouraged you to give into what was beckoning you and what that was was in the corner of the room, a few feet away. 

_Sleep._

Tilting your head towards the hand that was at your collar, you attempted to bring your own hand up to intertwine your fingers and pull it forward so that you could place a gentle kiss to his wrist. Moments that were simply of affection weren’t uncommon for the two of you, but with how passionate and heated you had been with him, such simple pleasures meant a lot more. That being said, any moment with him meant a lot to you, and unlike him, you weren’t afraid to say it.

“Red it is,” you stifled a yawn before moving to step away from him and lead him to once again (hopefully) sit upon the bed, but not before placing the white one down into the bureau again. When you came up to stand before him, you motioned a bit anxiously to yourself. “Did you want to… or?”

Although Alastor found he truly needed no real excuse to reach out and touch you, he certainly didn't hesitate at your motion. He stood up and stepped to you quickly, taking the time to gather you in his arms, somehow both protective and yet promising of more carnal desires; as such, you melted into him.

Unable to help himself, he pressed a gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth, hoping you would catch on to the lingering emotions behind it. You felt Alastor’s nimble fingers make short work of undoing the clasp of your blouse, his hands trailing down your sides until he grasped the bottom hem; one smooth tug had the material free of your raised arms and head. 

Another kiss, this time to the other corner of your lips, although his nose brushed the tip of yours as he pulled away this time as if hesitating to break his connection to you. His hands returned to your sides, the large expanse of his calloused palms against the skin of your stomach had goosebumps flaring across your bare chest. 

One hand shifted, warmth cupping one of your breasts against the cool material of the thin bralette you had chosen that morning. Pregnancy had brought a number of changes to your body, your breasts already sensitive and heavier, almost aching as Alastor kneaded at your flesh. 

You gasped slightly as you felt his thumbnail catch against your nipple, the fabric making a soft sound to combat against the one that fell from your lips. In response, and before you could utter your own, his mouth eagerly sought yours in an effort to take his greedy fill of kisses that he would undoubtedly wade the depths of Hell for; how _intoxicating_. 

Alastor's other hand trailed from your side to the waistline of the pleated skirt that sat just above your hips. He hooked his pointer finger under the material and ran it along the front of your lower belly, another pleasant ripple of goosebumps travelling across your skin at his touch. It tickled just enough to cause you to jerk back, but Alastor stepped forward so quickly to close the distance once more; it was as if he had expected you to shy away, his understanding of your body becoming clearer the more the two of you continued on. 

He crooned some sound, a devilish quirk to the grin on his lips as his hands settled at your hips once more. Your name echoed in his ears, whispering voices cooing even in his mind - the shadowy tendril had coiled around your headboard now, undulating in the dim lighting… sure to be more than suspicious should you catch sight of it - before the soft rustle of your skirt shifting abruptly brought his quickly liquifying focus back to you. 

The material pooled around your feet, leaving you bare save the hosiery you wore and the thin cotton fabric hiding your mound from view. 

Alastor dropped to his knees unceremoniously (which only resulted in a _thump_ being resounded), gazing up at you from under long dark lashes (ones even now you were terribly jealous of), looking for all the world like a man coming to pray at the altar. Although the height difference meant you were only so much taller than him even from this position, he leaned down and propped one leg in his hand. 

You felt your cheeks burn, sure a blush was flaming across your skin as you watched Alastor begin to unroll one stocking-hose. Once it was free from your leg, he pressed a kiss to your knee before moving to remove the other; that knee received a kiss too once it was bare - although this time, you felt his hands slide up the back of your calves to your thighs. 

Your fingers laced through his curls without you even really thinking, nails scratching against his scalp to show your appreciation for his affection. Your belly was beginning to flutter, teasing sparks of desire flaring there. You watched as the man settled further back on his haunches, nose coming to a rest just below your belly button, just as his warm breath washed over you in waves.

Alastor stilled then, breathing calming as he practically nuzzled against you. Had you not been so thin, so hardened given the times, he doubted either of you would have noticed the distortion to the flat plane of your midriff. Despite the fact that it was still such a small change, he still felt an undeniable rush of paternal protectiveness; his hands flexed where they still gripped against your legs, and he crushed his face so hard against your stomach that what he mumbled next was nothing more than jumbled nonsense. 

You squinted.

"What was that?" You couldn't help but tease him, to torture him a bit despite the breathy tone to your voice. "Speak up, radio man." He had the tendency to mumble and mutter responses he wasn’t confident in, which was funny enough considering how loud he normally was. “You know I can’t-”

"Want you." Alastor murmured still, effectively cutting you off, although his words came a bit clearer as he shifted to press a light kiss to your navel. "Mine. Always mine. Lemme show you, _cher_."

_Oh._

It was something about the sight and the lack of need to put on a show that made your body flare up in desire for the third time that day - surely your body would give out before things went too far, because you were pretty damn sure you wouldn’t be able to keep up with his stamina eventually. Still, your nerves short-circuited at the prospect, a soft sigh escaping you as you brought your fingers to thread through his soft wavy locks, somehow unstiffened from gel once again. 

“Sweetheart,” you whispered, deciding not to move simply because the sight was too _cute._ “I physically cannot take you three times in a single day,” you giggled while you couldn’t help but feel that same blush travel down your neck - as much as you wanted to, you were a lot smaller than him and he was rather proportional. A grower, not a shower, and that was alright because he sometimes hurt. You were still getting used to him. 

Plus, you were beginning to chafe from the actions, so you needed to rest that area. _However—_

“But if you turn off the light for me and get in bed...” You leaned down and pressed your lips to his cheek bone, “... Then maybe I can touch you a bit. Would you like that?” A whisper that was hushed against the lobe of his ear.

Alastor gave a soft groan at your words, somehow pressing his face even more to you, as impossible as it seemed. He took one last selfish moment to revel in the feel of your skin against him, preening under the knowledge of the life made nestled safely beneath. 

You thought you caught the sound of a breathy, hissed "yes-" escaping him in the moment. 

He stood slowly then, making sure to drag his hands up along your form as he went, caressing and lightly pinching where he could. 

Once Alastor stood to his full height, he touched his nose to yours, eyes closing as his smirk turned to a soft smile. The simple yet all too adorable moment made your heart skip a beat like you were some blushing school girl, at odds with the feelings of desire still prominent in your core. 

He was breathtakingly confusing and you adored him all the more for it. 

It only lasted so long before Alastor’s natural inclination to be _a gremlin_ took over and the man quickly stooped to snatch up the forgotten nightgowns. He threw them across the room as though they had personally offended him and his entire bloodline. 

You gave a soft cry of protest to which he brushed past, long legs carrying him to the lamp which he distinguished without a single glance back at you. 

_The brat!_

You sighed, realizing the light from the moon was rather faint, your room suddenly swathed in darkness minus a small stretch of light that illuminated enough that you could just make out the window on one side and the outline of your bed on the other. 

You also realized a certain chatty radio host had been much too quiet for much too long, just as one calloused hand landed across your mouth, effectively sealing in your squeal, while the other wrapped around your middle to bring your back flush to Alastor's firm chest, before he sat on the side of the bed.

"Sorry, darling." Alastor cooed, sounding anything _but_. 

For one reason or another, it didn’t take you long to fall into place; as if your bodies were purposefully created to envelop one another in a lovers dance, your shock dwindling by the second as you relaxed in his grip and let him pull you back so that the two of you were face to face, or rather, what you could see through the darkness that cloaked the room in shadow. 

You could see the faint outline of his silhouette, the soft glint of the moonlight against the rim of his glasses, and for the briefest of moments you nearly felt your stomach twist inside out at the thought of all he could do to you in the _shadows._

But there was no need to imagine it. 

Sitting up, you managed to clamber atop his hips gingerly. From there, you leaned forward so that you hovered above him and slowly began to press your lips to the tip of his nose before drifting to the side and letting your kisses fall to his cheek, his jaw, and then to his neck which was partially covered by his tie and collar to which you simply disregarded said tie and began to continue to unbutton his shirt.

“You’ve got to stop wearing these button-ups,” you whispered between each kiss until you managed to to rid him of the shirt, at least, from the point that you could finally run your hands up his lean abdomen.

Now, to be fair, you French wasn’t anything close to fluent nor even enough for you to be knowledgeable in conversation, but you had picked up on a few phrases from the teachings your mother had bestowed upon you and, in tandem, something that she had called you in endearing amusement when you were being nothing more than a brat:

_“... Mon monstré.”_

Alastor remained where he was, dark eyes blown wide behind his rounded glasses as he stared, unblinking, up at you as if he hadn't, yet again, been the one to barrel headlong into the situation. The nickname you bestowed on him in that moment, your tongue forming the delicate sounds of the French language, made his chest tighten in a way he couldn’t easily define.

_Oh darling, if only you knew..._

His impulsive nature knew no bounds, especially when it came to you, and while the act of physical intimacy was one he was becoming more and more comfortable with as time progressed, being so openly admired and touched was still something that Alastor grappled with at times, fighting against his instincts to shield the more vulnerable aspects of his frame.

The patchwork of scars patterned across his front did nothing to ease these warring emotions for the man. Under your gentle touch, your hands trailing over his stomach and up his lean chest, fingers catching on the rougher edges of some of the scars littering his skin, his muscles twitched and fluttered.

The frantic energy that had been vibrating in his very essence earlier came rushing back, his fingers clenching and fisting in the bedding as though he was worried he might not stop if he touched you at that moment – or, more to the point, _what_ he might do if he were to touch you. The feeling of slowly losing his grip on his otherwise infallible control was back, this time concentrated in his core.

The whispers that had been filling his head were suspiciously quiet, the room feeling lighter as though it had suddenly just become the two of you (three, really, counting the small life growing in your belly); the shadow that had been creeping, inching, ripping across your floor, without notice from you, of course, had disappeared completely, leaving your room as inconspicuous and average looking in the filtered moonlight, just as it had before.

Alastor murmured your name then, his voice cracking slightly, as though on some level _begging_ you to take the reins, unable to verbalize just why he was acting as such. 

Unable to make out the expressions through the darkness (although, if you were being honest, your eyes _were_ gradually beginning to adjust to the lack of light), you were thoroughly convinced that everything was fine and dandy, that there was nothing wrong, that in the shroud of silence save for the sound your lips made when they parted from his flesh, or his labored breathing and soft spill of your name, everything was _light-hearted._ You were clueless when it came to the enigma that lay beneath you, his mind like a master puzzle.

Instead, you focused on the warmth that he radiated naturally, your fingers catching the grooves of his ribs as you hesitantly reached forward to press your lips to his right nipple experimentally. 

While they would never have the same purpose as yours did, you were curious as to whether or not they were just as sensitive as yours. You rolled your tongue across it for a moment before peppering kisses back up to his sternum, then to his neck, to which you merely nuzzled your head into the juncture between it and his shoulder, all while your left hand began to travel further down to toy with the belt of his slacks. 

Although, you didn’t attempt to remove the belt, you simply teased the metallic sound which only resulted in another flare of desire to simmer in your core. As much as you wanted to rest, it was almost as if he had an euphoric hold over you, easily able to encourage you to commit such carnal acts of affection and adoration, brain easily becoming muddied under the weight of your actions and his scent that washed over you.

“You make it really hard for me to say no to you,” you whispered hotly against his jugular, before you found yourself placing heated kisses against the flesh you could reach. Your hand fell from his belt in that moment with a _clink_ and instead began to palm at the undoubtedly growing erection that hid just beneath the clothing. “So hard…” 

Alastor shuddered under your touch, his skin practically buzzing with electricity, heavy **static** filling his ears as if to press back on the sudden silence. He was vaguely aware of your hand toying with his belt, and the soothing lilt to your voice; your words sounded muffled against the rising din in his head -

A clear warning from the Other Side he had gone too long without _payment_ ; after all, he had asked for great things from them, the Loa, and that meant he had paid a heavy price, made all too clear in the twitching of his muscles and flare of adrenaline humming through his veins, reminding him of what was due -

And now your small, delicate hand was palming him _oh so_ deliciously through the front of his slacks, his body already responding in kind to the teasing touches you were gifting him with, slowly bringing him back to focus. His throat locked, neck stiffening, although whether it was ( _a threat_ ) from his strain or the feel of your hand against him, Alastor couldn't be too sure.

In a last attempt at grounding himself, Alastor lifted both his hands, mostly blind even with the soft light coming in through the window, your form nothing more than a solid yet shrouded shape on his lap. Large, warm hands found your knees and ran up each thigh until they met with the curve of your hips, which he firmly latched on to.

His grip was nearly bruising, but his hushed croon of your name sounded heart-achingly soft in the night air, barely audible above your mixed breathing and the sound of your pulse in your own ears as you continued your ministrations against him.

You winced slightly - despite him being leaner than most, he was still a man and he absolutely could overpower you in any form of a physical show of strength - at the rough motions against your hips, your lip twitching at the corners of a frown before you paused in your movements to gently lead your hands up and try to appease his rougher nature. “Gentle...” you cooed, quickly becoming swept up in your own motions. 

Leaning your hand up, you gently threaded your fingers through his locks before gingerly taking his glasses off and placing them, thankfully, on the bedside table. You hesitated then, before coming to press a dainty, chaste kiss to his lips. 

“... Do you want to be gentle?” You wouldn’t have many more chances after this point, to be fair. While the thought of truly being rough was a bit daunting and intimidating, you were finding with exceptional speed that with each shared breath, you simply trusted him _more._ Naivety at its finest. 

The breath Alastor sucked in then could have been described as ragged, at best. He flexed his fingers, grip harsh, one last time before he eased up and rubbed his thumbs against your flesh in a circular fashion.

Just as you always did, you had brought him back to this plane of reality startlingly fast; Alastor's thin chest was heaving slightly still, his senses returning to him the more you touched him and offered him some piece of solace. Your weight was comforting, solid against the lingering effects of the waning border between realms.

The noise had disappeared from his head, his eyes adjusting to the darkness even without the aid of his glasses, his keen eyes beginning to be able to differentiate against the different shapes muddling the room – your dresser, the side table across the room, the door handle on your closet – all shrouded in darkness but forms nonetheless.

As Alastor's breathing slowed to normal, he took stock of how close he had come to truly slipping up; the side effects of his choice of magic and how he employed it a reminder of the fact that while he may wield the benefits of his connections to the spirit world, he was still a mortal man.

The short answer to your question was a frank _No_ , although the man didn't dare breathe such an urge into existence, not when he was already struggling to maintain his composure. It wouldn't do to accidentally go too far, to give in too much, and hurt you or the babe inside you. There would be time later, perhaps once you had dozed off to sleep and the house was finally quiet and dark, he could slip away and work off some of the residual energy that seemed to have settled in his bones.

For now, Alastor wanted nothing more than to chase more of the comfort you offered, a warmth that seemed to ease his strained muscles and allow his pulse to begin to slow.

“You're but a tiny little thing,” he offered, voice low but steadier than before. His hands sought to lace his fingers with your own again. “It wouldn't do having your father grow more suspicious of me if you suddenly can't walk.”

He sold his line with a wink that made your eyes roll out of instinct, the more that your vision adjusted.

“More?” You murmured against his lips, ghosting them before pressing them to the tip of his nose. “Why would he be suspicious of you?” Although, his definition of ‘suspicion’ was a lot more macabre than yours, your father had only met the man _maybe_ twice - one in passing and one when you had let him in to eat breakfast. “That being said,” you pressed your nose to his, the exhale he was currently facing being cut off when you squished them together. 

“I know how to lie.” 

The look you shot him in that moment was a bit pointed - truly, you were sure that you could be as crafty as he was when it came down to it. You weren’t some _child_ incapable of complex thought! Why did everyone underestimate you? - although you were a bit thankful that the darkness shrouded the majority of telling features. “I know how to _hide things…_ ” 

You trailed your hands while they were still interlaced with his, your breath washing over his lower face as you began to drag your lips down his neck, chest, and then his abdomen. You sat back on his knees then, finally bringing your hands to retract from his and begin to slip the belt out of its hold with a bit more aggression than what was necessary, perhaps given that you were up to the moon with how everyone underestimated your ability on a daily basis.

Even if they were true (something that you would never in your lifetime accept). 

Perhaps catching yourself, you whispered a small ‘sorry’ and continued on with slipping it out of its loop and tossing it onto the floor with a _thump._ “I know I— _we_ have to be careful,” you let out a sigh, “-but I want to make the most of it before I _can’t_ anymore. Before,” you began to pull down his slacks after unbuttoning them, “I’m too swollen with our child to be as explorative as we can be now.” You honestly could not believe you were trying to convince him to be rough with you.

But alas, here you were.

Alastor heaved a sighed - ever dramatic - as you made your frustration more than clear. It seemed no matter what lately, his normally silver tongue got him into more (rather than out of) trouble with you. 

Your mood swings were dizzying and yet you were still in the early stages of your pregnancy. A chill ran down his spine, mind blanking as the sudden weight of what your pregnancy would bring in terms of testing his endurance against your whims hit him. 

Your hands returned to reach for Alastor again, landing on his now bare thighs, just below where his boxers ended. It was frustratingly short of where he wished you'd touch most, but it succeeded in bringing the man's attention back to where it belonged. 

"Darling," Alastor shifted, subconsciously seeking to ease some of the tightness of his rigid length pressing to the front of his boxers. His tone was cautious. "You were the one who mentioned you were feeling… less amorous." 

“I never said that.” You muttered, slowly bringing your hands down to curl around the band of his briefs. “I said I don’t think I can take you three times in one day,” you leaned forward to press kisses to his hip bones as they jutted out when you began to pull the underclothing down. “I never said I couldn’t.” You lifted the band up and in one motion, tugged them down to his knees. You could barely see him in his full glory, but you could certainly feel his air, the warmth he radiated.

“And if you keep testing me,” you huffed, letting your breath wash over the tip of his cock as you came to grasp it gingerly in your right hand, your left hand splayed against his hip, “I _am_ going to be less amorous.” He was right, you knew he was right, you knew that you weren’t going to be able to handle him the way that you fantasized, but you were going to try your damn best.

Now, you weren’t much of a dominant individual, but to get your point across, you were beginning to learn that you would _have to._

You closed your eyes as you explored his length in a manner you hadn’t before; there were grooves of veins on the left side which branched off into a ‘y’ formation, the knowledge that beneath the head was an area of nerves that you could only imagine to be just as sensitive as yours were. The further to the tip you got, the warmer he became. “What are safe words if they can never be used?” If you had to come onto him, fine. You would. 

Alastor's hip lifted at your continued exploring touch, managing to shift you upwards just slightly as his lower half moved. This both proved his inlaid strength and once again confirmed you truly were tiny. 

In a moment of pettiness at once again being called out, you gave his tip another squeeze, hearing his sharp intake of breath and the hiss of air as he released it in response. 

Alastor called your name, a tell-tale huff noticeable in his tone. 

"Sweetheart," he crooned to you, his hands selfishly beginning to creep up your sides until he reached your breasts and was able to run his thumbs over your firm nipples, still clothed behind your bralette. "I'll move Heaven and Earth for you, just say the word. Safe or not." 

You could picture the shit-eating grin he no doubt had plastered to his face, judging from the slick tone of his voice. 

He gave each nipple a sudden, sharp pinch; nothing too painful, but enough to let you know he understood just what you were asking for. Even if you fully didn't; his sweet words coupled with the harsh sting of his actions was a surprisingly heady combination nonetheless.

"If you want to make love to me, then make love to me." Alastor murmured, parroting your earlier words back to you from the dark. "If you want to fuck me, darling..." 

_Then fuck me._

You weren’t sure how he had such an effect on you, but to hear your own words echoed back at you in his suddenly gravelly voice, his tone holding a promise of what could come from this if you truly wanted to go through with it before you seemed to come alive again, your breath escaping you in a puff of breath before some sort of wicked grin spread across your lips. 

A bout of nerves washed across your body in a manner that nearly made you giggle, just as you leaned forward and, with a bit of anxiousness, took off the remainder of your clothing. 

Hovering above him with your legs spread on each side of his hips, you dared to press closer to him, chest against chest, just as your lips brushed against his own. “Beg.” 

The man had the nerve to brush his lips back against yours, "Darling," he cooed, sounding much too egotistical for his own good. "Didn't you hear what-" 

Your right hand had been sneaking forward but at that moment, you wrapped it around his neck with a pressure that you had _never_ showed. “I said _beg,_ you fool.” A growl, perhaps, would do your point justice. You rested your forehead against his, keeping your lips just out of his reach. “Or is this not tight enough for you?” Oh, that power rush felt good.

Alastor's hands had found your hips again, nails digging in slightly in his moment of surprise when your hand first closed on his neck. Unsurprising was the shot of desire that streaked through his core. 

Had you been able to see him better in the dark, you would have noticed Alastor’s pupils blow, lips twitching back into a grin that bordered on feral. This was a side of you he knew had to exist - didn't everyone harbor dark desires, deep down? - but rarely was presented with the chance to see it in full swing. 

"You _marvelous_ thing." He managed to croak out, impressive in his never ending need to talk. 

“Do you think flattery will win you this one?” You leaned closer, turning your face to the side so that you could nuzzle your nose against his cheek tenderly. “Try again.” You whispered. 

You felt Alastor’s breath wash gently across your skin as he tried his best to turn his head to follow yours, chasing the contact of your lips. When you denied him again, moving just barely beyond his reach so that he _knew_ how tantalizingly close you were, some forlorn whine echoed from his chest. 

"Sweetheart, please." The man stammered out just as you leaned down to press your _teeth_ to his neck, your thumb moving a bit to allow such a thing, an inquisitive hum escaping your throat as you leaned back after teasing the skin there with a few nibbles. He could easily flip the power, you knew. 

And that knowledge gave you the gall to finally give in and reach between your thighs to grasp him, your lips parted in shared breath as you came to rest your forehead against his again. But alas, your own stamina had already been depleting rapidly -

“Alastor,” you let his name fall from you in a wave of heated breath. It was almost as if _he_ had triggered the submissive behavior again by doing something that was wholly unaware to you; or perhaps it was your rapidly changing hormones that pulled you this way and that.

“ _Please fuck me.”_ You pressed your nose to the space beside his. You weren’t even sure why you had so easily fallen into a state of submissiveness so fast. “I want you, _all of you,_ it drives me wild knowing that you’re holding back because you’re afraid.” You let your hands fall from him completely, around his cock and around his neck, before you grabbed his one hand on your hip and attempted to bring it to your neck. 

“I’m _asking_ you to go too far.” You had, absolutely, no _idea_ what you were asking for, wholly unaware of the shark that lurked just beyond the thin glass pane, but at least you had ‘Applesauce’ for a reason. 

Alastor's hand briefly flexed in its grip against your throat. His fingers splayed so his palm nearly encompassed the entirety of the column of your neck, and he dared to give a faint, testing squeeze that made your breath stutter. 

"If that's what you truly desire," Alastor's gravelly words were your only warning before he managed to wrap his lean arms around you and roll you so he was able to nestle himself between your thighs. His hand stayed in its place, still securely attached to your neck, light pressure still evident. It was a warning as much as it was pillow talk. 

The hand that was not yet occupied moved to trace the curve of one breast, fingertips dancing over the pebbled nipple so softly, the contrast was nearly mind numbing. 

“Yes…” you managed to say even with the pressure against your throat - it was something instinctual then when you noticed that your hands had fallen to gingerly grasp at it, before you caught yourself and simply let them still and rest against it. 

Alastor shifted enough so that he could brush his mouth against yours, while the hand that had been at your chest moved down your side until he reached your hip. One smooth movement later had your leg hooked up and over one of his shoulders, his flushed and throbbing length coming to rest just barely against your folds. 

  
  


He finally gifted you with a proper, deep kiss just as his slim hips pushed forward, easing himself into the silky hot depths of your inner walls until he bottomed out; in response, your lips had parted to suck in a deep breath which, unfortunately, was slightly more difficult to succeed in, before a moan (or as much of one you could make) was released from your mouth. 

Was it just you, or did he feel a lot _bigger?_

You gasped as you tried to take a breath, your lips brushing against his with each word you spoke, “I won’t ever get used to you.” _You never wanted to._ You released a whine of sorts. “Magic man, tell me your secrets-“ You groaned as you tried to roll your hips beneath him to lessen the pressure a bit, but such an action was impossible when he was buried so sweetly, so _deeply_ inside of you. “How do you feel so good…?”

Flattery didn’t work on you (it secretly had) but maybe it would for him. 

“No other will do, m’love,” you tried to say through the pressure on your throat. “No one else gets to have me but you.” Your nose attempted to press up, but with you practically being pinned down, it was nearly impossible. 

“But… you knew that already, didn’t you?”

Leave it to you to turn sappy. 

It was a surprise therefore when you felt his chest rumble, some dark and rich chuckle tumbling from his lips and washing over your lower face. The hand at your throat tightened minutely, but enough so that your monologing was effectively cut off. 

"You sound as if you have a choice, sweetheart." Alastor murmured, mouth moving to press a kiss to your forehead, as though he was admonishing you like some child. 

He shifted the hand on your neck just enough so that his fingers could add just a little more pressure to the sides, ensuring that while the weight might be uncomfortable, your oxygen levels wouldn't be affected. 

"No one will ever touch you like _this_ ," the man cooed down to you, voice somehow both a growl and yet honeyed enough to make your toes curl in anticipation. "You are mine-“

“Maybe,” you managed a bit easier now given the change in pressure, “-You should shut up and touch me then.”

There was the smallest pause, the two of you sharing breath in the space of a mere few seconds, before Alastor surged forward, hips snapping against you in such a way that quickly stole what little breath you had left from you. 

Confident he now had your full attention again, Alastor left your leg to hook over his shoulder freely, his hand drifting to seek out the tiny bundle of nerves tucked at the top of your glistening folds. Another harsh snap ripped another small moan from you; this time, his reaction was to squeeze a little tighter, thumb coming to press to the pressure point just below your jaw bone. 

"Like this, darling?" He crooned, knowing you wouldn't quite be able to form proper words with the force of his hand now. The smirk was evident in his tone alone. 

Alastor's slim hips set up a rolling, almost painfully slow pace as he made sure to bottom out on every thrust. Your heat was slick and eager, muscles fluttering around his cock as he plunged in and out of your core; each time he moved back, you anguished the loss, but when he returned, you both praised and winced as he nudged against your cervix. 

Unable to move much else, you settled for rolling your hips, doing your best to try and absorb some of the shock of his thrusting. The pressure on your neck meant you couldn’t quite maneuver yourself forward enough to touch him outside of what you could reach of his one side. 

The fingers he placed at your clit moved steadily, quick enough that the flicker of desire that had been smoldering in your belly sparked licks of pleasure running up your spine. The feel of Alastor burying himself to the hilt coupled with the motions of his slick fingertips was enough to slowly drag your focus away from the weight on your throat and to the building pressure that was too delicious to turn away from.

The muscles in your calves tensed, your toes curling as the heat in your core coiled tighter and tighter; Alastor shifted just enough so that he could keep your leg propped up but also reach to nuzzle against the soft skin of your breast. 

You felt his lips ghost over you, teeth parting so he could nibble at your nipple, warm breath cooling against the saliva that had collected there. It sent a jolt down to mix into the cresting pressure rippling through your belly. 

It only took another particularly hard thrust, coupled with Alastor's nimble and now well-practiced fingers pinching your swollen and oversensitive bud and then you were suddenly pitched over the edge. Your orgasm seemed to be ripped from you with little of your own doing or even consent; it had all been at the hands of the man who had likewise followed you in his own moment of release. 

The usual rush of endorphins that followed never came, instead your high quickly elevating to something much more basic and instinctual as your brain finally made the connection that you were no longer feeding it with an intake of oxygen. 

Wrapped up in his own release, Alastor's fingers had closed on your neck, small veins in the back of his hand standing out more than usual from the strain in his muscles there. As though some part of him recognized who you were even then, his nails dug into the skin just below your ears, as if to combat against the crushing pressure and failing miserably. 

Instead, the feeling of the muscles in your neck beginning to cord under his touch only seemed to lock Alastor's grip in place, his mind foggily grappling to come back to focus. 

Everything in your mind in that moment was telling you to do everything you could to survive, the lack of oxygen becoming prevalent the more seconds that seemed to drag on; and from that, your hands that had merely rested against his hand began to claw at it. 

Still nestled inside you, Alastor's form seemed to undulate almost unnaturally, an odd tremor taking over his thin frame. The rising swell of **static** was back, tenfold, deafening as it roared inside his head. Behind the pair of you, some monstrous shadowy tendril (to which you only thought it to be you beginning to black out) began inching its way down your headboard. 

Darker than the rest of the dimness around you, you blinked as if to clear the odd vision from your gaze, only to realize the spots dancing in front of you had not been there before. And the man still looming above you, nothing but warm weight and ragged breathing, showed no signs of letting up regardless of how your hands scrambled against him. 

You barely heard the words that had left your lips over the roaring of blood in your ears, but god, you kept repeating them through what you could, fat tears streaming down your face and onto his hand. _Applesauce._

Another heartstopping second passed, feeling both fleeting and eternal at the same time, before Alastor's head finally snapped up to take in the scene before him. Some oddly detached part of him found itself marveling at the exact shade of deep red you were turning, the wetness of your tears on his hand barely registering. 

It was only when one of your nails caught the sensitive web of skin that stretched between two of his fingers, the sting not altogether sharp but unexpected all the same, did his awareness come flooding back. 

Alastor's hand twitched and then the next moment your head was rushing, the sound of your raging pulse and deep, shattering breaths filling your ears even over your continued wracked sobbing. Your vision swam, spots dancing in front of you until they lightened and disappeared, just as you scrambled to sit up and, in doing so, pushed on him to distance yourself in a self-preservation tactic even though it had been what you _asked for._

Subconsciously, you had only asked for it because you hadn’t wanted it to be something he would even _consider._

You heaved in breath after breath, before you reached over and blindly tried to grab the light chain, only to pull it down and shroud the room rapidly in light. When it was all said and done, you had scooted back so that you hit the headboard, and after your hands had fallen from your neck, they had instinctively gone to your _belly._

It was as if someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over his form; Alastor tracked your subconscious move, his gut rolling sharply when he realized you were cradling the ever so small bump that rested there. 

Without thinking of the implications following such a transgression, Alastor raised one hand towards you, palm turned upwards in a form of peace offering. Your name fell from his lips, nothing more than a hushed whisper, his own voice wavering in uncertainty. 

He could still feel the ghost of your skin against the crushing pressure of his hand, part of him sickened while another, darker and certainly less stable part of him yearned to feel it again. 

You stared at that hand for what felt like forever, and perhaps it was, your vision blurred as you fought back on the tears that simply continued to flow down your cherub cheeks. When you opened your mouth, no words came out even with your mind racing. You had explicitly asked him to go too far, but in your naive mind, you hadn’t realized that your definition of ‘too far’ simply wasn’t the _same for everyone._

“Why…” You sobbed out, finally, the word almost hollow sounding with how your throat stung. You didn’t want an answer. You didn’t want to think about anything anymore. You just wanted to forget it ever happened and, before you could stop yourself, you leaned forward and practically fell into his lap.

But you never stopped crying. 

Above you, Alastor froze, brilliant mind for once not able to come up with anything witty or even soothing to say in the face of your ongoing tears. One hand came to rather awkwardly pat you on the back, while the other moved to gently support your head more so he could shift you in his lap, long legs folding under the both of you. 

He could feel your tears, hot and wet against his bare chest; your smaller frame had nestled into him more, most of your exhausted weight resting on him now. Fingers tangled in your tresses after a few moments, working out any knots they came across - although he really succeeded in doing nothing more than tugging a few strands before the man gave up. 

The hand moved to cup the back of your head, keeping you effectively pressed to his front. In a last ditch attempt at hopefully soothing you, Alastor hoped the sound of his heartbeat might do the trick. 

And soon enough, it did, your body crumbling underneath the exhaustion that the past days had brought, the previous day, the night, the past events, and the pregnancy. The moment that you had closed your eyes to calm yourself down, your body had rid you of your consciousness, and effectively, you entered into a land that was a bit less stressful than this one was turning out to be. 

Because God knew you needed a break. 

As soon as Alastor noted that your breathing had eased up, the few hiccups you developed now beginning to ease, he took a moment to eye the damage done to your neck. Purple bruises were evident, as were several crescent-moon shape indents from where his fingernails had dug in.

A sudden white-hot pang of guilt boiled up in his gut, the man swallowing against the dryness in his mouth.

Easing you off of him with the utmost of care, hand cradling your head again, Alastor moved you until he was able to lay you out, head propped by your pillow. You barely reacted, minus some subconscious shifting as you moved to roll on your one side. Your hands reached out and found another pillow, bringing it closer in a moment of open vulnerability.

Alastor watched you for a moment longer, part of him marvelling at the intimacy that could exist in something as minimal as sleep before he lifted the quilt to cast it over you. He tucked it under your chin, as though to cover up some of the evidence of his transgressions against you, and then reached over to promptly switch off your lamp. He only moved off the bed once he was certain your breathing hadn't changed, your body lax and still under your cocoon.

He would need to speak with you more about this, he was certain of it. The time in which you remained wholly naive and unaware of his true nature was quickly coming to pass; Alastor was more than aware of the new complications this brought to a relationship already fraught with issues and obstacles. Now, however, the rush of adrenaline from before had come back; although this time it was twinged with some desperation, some great need to right some of his wrongdoings.

Therefore, with one last look at your form, Alastor turned and stalked quietly across your room. He dressed quickly, fabric whispering as it covered his frame. He had to double back to find his glasses, hands trailing over the top of your side table until he felt the wireframes; he didn't dare turn on the lamp again, in fear of waking you up.

It was near 3 AM when Alastor made the drop from your window ledge to land on the soft, landscaped grass below. It was a bit late for one of his hunts, but Alastor's bones ached under the pressure of the urge to expend some of this pent up energy. The thrum of static hummed along his skin, bringing goosebumps in its wake; the shorter hairs on the nape of his neck stood to attention, late-night breeze tickling through them.

It felt _good_ to finally stretch his legs, as though he had been physically cooped up and not just fighting against moral constraints.

His shadow bloomed from the nearest lamp post at the sound of his short-heeled shoes clipping off the cobblestones. It twisted and whorled, somehow both solid form and yet immaterial and otherworldly at the same time. It's void-like face split, one massive maw appearing amid two endless burning eyes. Despite its horrific nature, Alastor barely acknowledged its presence, head giving an odd jerk in response to its appearance.

His shadow jumped from lamp post to lamp post, rippling and undulating in the darkness just beyond the light’s edge. It moved to ripple along a brick wall, pausing just long enough to swell in size and send a few wooden crates flying from where they had been propped against the back door of some establishment. The loud, screeching wail of a stray street cat rose from the clanging ruckus; Alastor's head snapped to the source almost inhumanly fast, his dark eyes flashing in the shadows.

His shadow gave him a ghastly grin before disappearing with a nearly inaudible 'pop'.

“Hey!” A rough voice called out, echoing slightly off the walls lining the empty alleyway. “What the fuck was that?”

_Ah -_

Alastor stepped closer to the alley to see a man leaning against the nearest doorway, cigarette dangling from his lips, smoke curling up around his face. The other man was shorter than him, five o'clock shadow adorning a rather pallid face; although the man was stocky whereas Alastor's lithe form was almost too lean, a sign of the hard times those who fought against the pillars of poverty faced even now that the Great War had been over for so long.

The other man caught sight of Alastor just as he moved into the mouth of the side street, hands tucked almost gaily in his slack pockets and a wide grin on his face, as though he wasn't out sulking in the middle of the night. The other eyed the newcomer wearily, jaw grinding so that the lit cigarette bounced slightly on his lips, a plume of smoke issuing as he exhaled.

“Little late for you to be out, ain't it?” The man sneered, moving to crush his cigarette beneath the heel of his brogue shoe. He added a rather colourful and less than polite slur to his sentence, his one free hand bunching into a fist at his side, his mean eyes narrowed as he sized Alastor up.

Alastor's grin filtered across his features like oil spreading across water. He never had been a fan of those who swaggered about with their innate, inborn privilege. Over his shoulder, his shadow elongated just slightly; the breeze that picked up carried so that it sounded like _whispers_ floating through the otherwise peaceful nighttime air.

“Come now, my dear fellow!” Alastor crowed suddenly, airy voice filling the silence in an almost shattering way. “Why, just because our skin is different on the outside, _doesn't mean we don't all run the same colour on the inside._ ”

One hand slipped into his front pocket, fingers curling around the hilt of the switchblade he had stolen from your side. A sharp pang of giddiness, of true excitement and adrenaline pulsed through Alastor's veins, his tongue darting to wet his lips in anticipation.

_It had been so long._

Ninety minutes later, and smoking a cigarette he had nicked from the package of the man whose insides now coated most of his shirt, Alastor stood just outside the city limits on the muddy banks of the Mississippi River. He pitched what pieces of meat and all leftover remains he could not take with him (he had removed his blazer and wrapped what cuts he could in it for the time being) into the murky waters.

Some would be put out as an offer to the Loa, along with fresh-cut herbs and other small offerings, and of course, the blood-stained handkerchief still harboured away in his pants pocket. Alastor would end the night kneeling at his homemade altar, tucked away and out of sight in the hallway closet you had so innocuously passed several times while visiting his home. 

He would ask for your continued protection, for a safe pregnancy and a healthy babe, born strong and hardy enough to survive the winter months following its arrival. And most of all, for you to remain faithfully by his side.

He would slaughter all of New Orleans if he had to.

The butt of the cigarette was stained crimson when he flicked it away, and the man took a moment to watch it float off down the current before turning on his heel and stalking off, newly acquired prize tucked safely under his arm.

Soon, all that was left were the warbling notes of some song Alastor was whistling, hanging in the air as if some physical residual remnant of the crime that had occurred. 


	16. Denial Ain’t Just A River, Honey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> warnings: argument, angst, brief sexual content, ya know the drill by now

There was something _off_ you had noted when your consciousness began to return to you, the soft fluttering of the window shades as a gentle breeze entered the encompasses of your room - a bit odd that was what had come to you as so unnatural in your groggy mind when you had a whole load of other problems that you would undoubtedly face. 

The corners of your lips twitched downwards into a scowl as the sunlight greeted you with a friendly smile… directly in your face. You tossed your arm over your eyes.

“It’s so bright.” You muttered, and just as you were about to turn around and brush it off as to him not having closed the window the prior night, you noted that your bed did not harbor that familiar warmth. 

Without moving your arm away from your face, you lifted your other one as high up as you could and let it fall down in a heap, half expecting to hear him grunt or at the very least meet something other than your _mattress._

Finally, you sat up and held the quilt close to you, your subconscious mind telling you to preserve your image as best as you could (because certainly a naked girl in her bed was not something that was lady-like) in a mannerism that had been drilled into your skull at an exceptionally young age. 

Once your image was tarnished, there was nothing you could do; you would be the talk of the town, and to say the least, your anxious mind was _not_ helping you out at this moment. 

The bed was empty. The room was empty. Knitting your brows together, you pulled the quilt away from you and, dragging the extra throw blanket, wrapped it around yourself as you slipped off of the bed. Instantly, you were thankful for the carpeting - unlike Alastor’s house, you didn’t have to wake up with cold feet, but perhaps that just showed how unintentionally well off your family was compared to his.

You weren’t rich, you didn’t come from money, but you were undoubtedly _white_ and in this day of age, that was practically the same thing. 

“Alastor?” You called softly, his name but a whisper amidst the secret you still had to keep. The house creaked in response, but all was quiet. Too quiet. With a huff, you walked towards the bathroom that was conveniently located inside of your room and found the door ajar; as if expecting to see him on the ground crying or some committing some uncharacteristically somber thing (like playing a small violin), you pushed it open.

Nothing. Spotless. Just how you had left it.

However, what wasn’t spotless was your neck apparently, and right when you looked up and caught sight of yourself in the mirror, your breath hitched in your throat and you whispered out a sharp ‘what the fuck’. 

You remained in the doorway for as long as what could have very well been eternity, eyes rounded in shock at the fact that your neck looked like it had been suffocated by itself. Purple, deep blue, and yellows adorned the flesh, and when you brought yourself, finally, over to the sink and raised your hand to press your fingers to the apparent mess, you winced. 

“What the hell did we do…” you muttered. 

_What didn’t you do?_

Your thighs hurt like a son of a bitch, your throat looked like it had been ringed out, and to make matters worse, the sight of it all had made your stomach clench and curdle; you barely made it to the toilet when you upchucked what hadn’t been digested quite yet from the previous night and the bile that represented that this pregnancy was just beginning to kick your ass. 

But just as well, as you gripped the seat with your fingers, your mind began racing - you had given him permission to go ‘too far’, but your true subconscious meaning had been a test of sorts, a slight suspicion that not everything was making sense when it came to him. 

You hadn’t forgotten about those newspapers, the knife he had brought into bed with you - why did he just have a _knife_ lying around? Yours was at least for defense, but the blade he had pressed to you was different. It was not at all unlike a kitchen knife, used for _chopping up_ things. It wasn’t enough to accuse him of ill-doing, but it was enough for you to grow suspicious even when your less-preservation side, your _romance_ side, told you that it was all just some big coincidence.

You wanted to believe that that was the case. 

Licking your lips out of habit, you flushed the toilet once you were safe but managed to keep the lid open just in case. 

You wouldn’t go out today, it seemed. Perhaps you could play dress-up with Ruth, adorning yourself in pretty scarves and such without raising suspicion to yourself. You couldn’t help but be mildly upset though - you knew he didn’t have work until the evening, so why wasn’t he _here?_ You highly doubted he would be mingling with your father because then that would just ruin the entire point of sneaking him in. 

Taking a deep inhale, you moved to the sink and brushed your teeth. All the while, however, your instincts were screaming at you to check the box, some sort of entity urging you to dig your grave deeper by giving in to your suspicions. It was like an itch that you couldn’t quite scratch, and you finally parted from the bathroom, got dressed, and stood at the side of your bed. 

_Check it. Do it._

The shadows underneath your bed seemed to curl a bit tighter, and the moment you stepped away, they dissipated. 

“No.” You weren’t sure if you were talking to yourself, but whatever it was, you were going to hold onto that hope for as long as you could. It would be there, just as you had left it. Shaking your head, you cleared your throat and, moving towards the door, let yourself out. 

You had been careful, and while you were pretty sure Ruth hadn’t believed you when she caught sight of the bruises, your defense was saying that you had spilled some blue makeup on you. But Ruth was just like you. She _knew_ you. That being said, she wouldn’t have said no to dress-up if her life very well depended on it, and just like that, the day had flown by.

Just like the rest of the week. 

Alastor still hadn’t shown up. 

To say it was beginning to bother you was a bit of an understatement, and as the weekend came to pass, you had begun to collect your savings and store them in your shoe - _ha, no one would ever think to rob you there -_ before heading off to the blacksmith. The day you had, you were fairly confident that the bruises were only an ugly yellow, something that you could thankfully cover up more than with the even uglier purple and blue. That day, you had brought Ruth along.

“So, when we go see Mr. Macgowan, you’re going to help me pick out the metal and such, right?” To be honest, you weren’t sure what the processes were of ring-making, but you knew that it required a level of expertise that you couldn’t quite afford. _However,_ your family had been known in the neighborhood for generations, and from that came friendships that could aid you. You hoped he wasn’t too busy with the horses. 

Partially the reason you had brought Ruth _was_ to see the horses. 

“Metal?” She made a face. “Why metal? Aren’t rings made of silver and gold?” 

“Ruth, what do you think silver and gold are?”

“... Silver and gold?” 

You tossed her a silly smile. “Soft metals.” 

“Soft? They’re not soft!”

“That’s not—”

“They’re like rocks, right? Rocks are hard! They hurt! I fell off my bike once and onto rocks! Soft is…” She looked down and then around as if to look for an example. “Like feathers. Or a teddy bear!” 

You had been a teacher for Ruth when you could, but even when you did, you settled on teaching her to read and proper grammar. You understood science to a point, but that was all. You definitely weren’t qualified to be a teacher, and you sure as hell never wanted to be one. You usually just helped Ruth with her homework. 

“You know what else is soft?” 

Ruth looked up at you curiously, a small skip in her step and her hand swinging your arms back and forth down the street.

“What?”

“Horse hair.” 

The effect was immediate and the gasp that came from Ruth was loud enough to make you giggle. Letting go of your hand, she immediately ran straight towards the stables and disappeared around the door before you could say anything more than ‘ask before you touch them!’. It wasn’t the first time you had brought her here, so you trusted the stable hands enough to wrangle her if she got too crazy. 

There goes trying to get her to help you with picking out things, although, you were partially happy that she wouldn’t be able to mess with potentially dangerous tools. 

“Why, if it isn’t Henry’s two sweethearts! Or rather, one now.” A gruff, familiar voice called out to you loud enough to bring your attention to a stubby, but well built middle-aged man. His skin was caked in grease and charcoal, a sheen of sweat against his forehead and between his elbows. 

“Good afternoon, Mr. Macgowan—“

“I thought I told you to call me Johnny,” he had a suddenly strict tone, jabbing a finger at you over the hand-crafted table before a laugh bubbled up one his chest. 

You flashed him a smile, bringing your hand behind your neck to anxiously rub at it. 

“Sorry, Johnny. It’s a habit!” You brought your hands back down to your sides and took a step closer to meet him half-way. Mr. Macgowan, or rather Johnny, was one of the few blacksmiths that were still found around the outskirts of New Orleans. Especially with the invention of automobiles becoming more prevalent, as it had been for decades, the lack of a need there was for horses to be used unless it was the police.

They seemed to love using them for curfew hours. 

“Why,” he leaned over the counter, “I haven’t seen you since you were yay-high.” He gestured to his side which was effectively blocked off from you. “Come here, lass, let me get a good look at you!” 

Now, you wouldn’t have even humored him if you hadn’t known him to be a family friend, or rather more importantly, your father’s best friend. Still, it was rare to have a get-together, especially in the recent years. Stepping closer, you stood at the other side of the counter and offered a small spin. 

“Truly a gem in the rough, I must say!” He grabbed his rag off of the side and wiped his forehead with it. 

“Thank you,” you dipped your head. 

“Got a new cat?” 

You froze, looking up at him. “A new cat?” Confusion was evident on your face, before he pointed to his neck. 

“Dog?” He questioned.

_Oh fuck, the makeup must have been wearing off._

You were silent for a long moment before you forced a smile. “Yeah, we got a new cat. It’s pretty grumpy, but hey, it’s for Ruth.” 

The two of you simultaneously said: “Anything for Ruth!”

Meanwhile, internally, you were sweating bullets. At the very least, however, he seemed to brush it off and lean on his elbow. “So what can I do for ya today, sunshine?” He turned around after a moment to tend to a horseshoe. A _clang!_ rose out just as you thrummed your fingers against the table.

“I need an engagement ring.” 

He stopped immediately and turned to you. “Who’s getting married?” 

“Me.”

His eyes widened. “You?” 

You flushed slightly. “... Yes?” Your mind immediately began to race with anxiety. 

“Get out of town! You’re pulling my leg, darlin’!” He slammed his fist down in a show of manly-man masculinity, to which you jumped but then let yourself relax slightly. “Who is it now, you gotta tell me! I can’t believe ol’ Henry hasn’t said a word!” 

“You know that radio guy that’s taken up the newspapers?”

He scratched his beard. “All that’s on the newspapers are them murders.” His accent grew heavier.

Your breath hitched before you let out an anxious laugh. 

“Yeah, well, before that, he’s the talk of the town… besides the murders.” Just the word alone was like poison, and you leaned in closer to the dad-friend. “He’s a radio host, his name is Alastor Beauchamp?” You caught sight of a bell off to the side and picked it up, before ringing it. “Ring a bell?”

He chortled into a belly-laugh, and with each passing moment, you began to grow more comfortable with him. After all, he was more of an uncle to you than an actual family friend - you just… didn’t see him as much to really forge a relationship with him. 

“Oh yeah! It’s that negro isn’t it?”

Your good mood faltered and a frown immediately began to pull at your lips. 

“Medium-skinned, or is he a mixed boy? Creole that is all the talk at the bars, tall and lanky, although, he does have a nice sense of style—“

“Yeah, that’s…” You hesitated to cut him off. “That’s him.” To say the least, you had been caught off-guard by the blatant racism and the fact that he continued to talk about it as if it was no big deal. 

“I didn’t take you for one to like _them.”_

“Johnny.” Your tone was short, suddenly.

“Yes, sunshine?”

“You’re about to lose my business if you keep talking like that.”

He paused to look over at you digging out the money from your shoe. When you slipped it back on, you pushed twenty dollars to him. 

“I… don’t need anything too fancy. Just a band, but I would really like it if you could include something deer related. He likes to hunt them.” You played with the hem of your dress. 

“I know custom rings are a lot more expensive than this, but I’ve been saving this up for the past few years. Inflation is obviously more now, so the worth of a dollar means less. But.” You reached over and grabbed his sooty-wrist. “Please. It would mean a lot to _me._ I won’t tell anyone when I got it from. You won’t get in trouble.” 

He stared at the bills for a few seconds before letting out a heavy sigh. “If I get caught for helpin’ you marry a…” He caught himself at the last moment. “Well, my business will fall.” 

You frowned.

“Johnny, _please.”_

He looked up at you and you gave him your best puppy-dog face. 

A loud sigh escaped him.

“Kid, you’re a tough nut to crack. Just as I remember ‘ya. Never takin’ no for an answer.” He grabbed his cigar and lit it, puffing out a breath before taking the money. “But I think it’s partly cause ya know I ain’t ever gonna be able to say no to that face.” 

You matched his sigh, although it was one that was as if a weight had been lifted off of your shoulders. 

“I’ll see what I can put together. Now, run off and come back in two weeks, should be done by then.” 

Needless to say, you had reached over, hugged him (and probably messed up your dress) before heading off to find Ruth. With one less thing to worry about, you had allowed her to continue to help the stable hand braid a horse’s mane before heading home for the night. 

A week passed.

You had thought you would have heard back from Alastor.

You weren’t sure how many days had gone by since you had seen him last. 

Another Monday through Friday, with each day having you grow more and more worried and restless, a painstakingly horrid feeling of worry. He hadn’t showed up. Again, he was going to make you go after him, the _coward._ You had three and a half weeks to build up that anger, that anxiety, that _fear_ especially when the newspapers began to discover more corpses, cut up and thrown into the Mississippi River, and finally, on that Friday, you had had _enough._

_Seven and a half weeks pregnant._

Internally, your uterus had outgrown your pelvis - that bump had turned into a more extended area, a more _noticeable_ area, to which you were positive that it couldn’t have been bloated anymore. It was a genuine bump, but too small for you to truly reveal through attire, thankfully. What was he going to do? Wait until you were giving birth? You had created a life with Alastor, and he was too much of a chicken shit to talk things out. 

It infuriated you.

But what had been the _real_ kicker was the fact that you had finally given into the voice in the back of your head urging you to check the box.

It had been empty.

He had taken it. The stupid fucking switchblade, he had taken it. 

_Why had he taken it?_

Having had already picked up the ring - it was expertly crafted, made of the wood of a live oak tree, native to New Orleans along with the antlers of a deer - you had taken to the trolly and found yourself at that familiar house. You had remembered exactly how to get there, through the alleyway, down the corner, just nestled at the edge of the park and swamp.

He was done hiding. If he wasn’t going to find you, you would find _him._

Lifting your fist, you knocked on the door in a fashion that simply didn’t _appear_ angry; you even did the small little pattern of knock knockity knock knock - knock knock. Oh no, you were going to lead him into a false sense of security, that one where he made you believe you and him were in this together. 

Only when he let his guard down and only then, would you let him have a piece of your mind. 

There was a moment of silence that met your knocking, doing nothing to help quell that flare of irritation you were holding back. Another few seconds passed before you raised your hand and completed another set of knocks; this time, your hand was a little heavier than you had perhaps wanted it to be, your anger simmering.

_If that man thought he could shack up and hide in his mother's house forever, he had another thing coming._

You raised your hand for the third time, after all, it seemed only polite to try again before you attempted your hand at your first home invasion -

The front door swung wide at that moment, just barely missing the touch of your knuckles. For the briefest second, you thought you had been victorious in tempting Alastor to surface from whatever slimy rock he had most likely slithered under, as your gaze caught the flash of warm, dark eyes and a wide, dazzling smile.

Within mere seconds, the thought vanished from your mind as arms wrapped securely around you and pulled you in close. You were hit with the warm smell of earthy spices and something that reminded you of dirt after the rain; Maggie had you crushed to her front as if you had returned from the Great War and not just shown up unannounced on her doorstep, her small frame enveloping you in instant maternal warmth.

“Oh well now, look who it is!” Maggie cried happily, giving you one last squeeze before she stepped back at an arm’s length to look you over. “Come in, come in!”

You were ushered over the threshold, Maggie holding you gently but insistently by the elbow, and into the long hallway.

“I wasn't expecting your sweet face around these parts, honey! Allie never mentioned a damn thing before he left for work.”

Your stomach dropped a little and you were unable to deny the feeling of _disappointment_ that flared there _;_ of course the bastard would be hiding away in his precious radio station. Next to you, Maggie chattered on, leading you further into the house before the pair of you reached the quaint yet cozy kitchen.

“Poor boy's been working some looong hours.” Maggie gave you a small look from the corner of her eyes as she moved forward to prep the kettle, leaving you to settle yourself at the table. “Some fancy new programmin’ they're working on, all he's done lately is rattle on about it.” She turned to face you then, leaning back by the large basin sink with her hands on her hips. 

“I s'pose he's been a little short on visiting you, although I'm sure he's been fixin' to.” 

You bit back on that natural sarcasm that had been bubbling deep beneath your chest. This wasn’t Alastor - this was his mother, and she had only ever been sweet to you. There was a beat of silence as your mind desperately tried to process what on earth was going on and stuff your prepared speech back into the drawer where it came from. _If anything, he could have written you a letter or called the house phone._

“I think we had our first real fight,” or, at least, were about to. 

You looked off to the side and brought your arms to comfortably cross in your chest when you had sat in the chair. 

“That last one wasn’t… it was, but it was more of a spat, y’know?” You let out a soft sigh. “He did something that I _asked_ for, but it wasn’t… I don’t know, I guess I wasn’t expecting him to actually do it.” Yeah, you were petty enough to tattle to his mother. “I haven’t seen him in three and a half weeks.”

You gave a heavy moment of silence to absentmindedly look around the kitchen. It was quaint, lovely, and you found yourself feeling more at home here than the materialistic part of town that wanted the fanciest places. 

“Maybe I would feel better if you hit him with that slipper again.” You didn’t dare try to stop the small smile, hoping to lighten the air after a second. This was between you and him, it wasn’t fair to Maggie to bring her into this, but you couldn’t help but to rant a bit.

Maggie hummed, a soft low sound, one you recognized as true motherly disapproval. She took a moment to turn away from you, busying herself with the kettle which had begun to whistle faintly. She took two decent sized mugs off a small stand (you thought it looked handcrafted, and despite your irritation, the idea of Alastor making things for his mother undoubtedly played with your heartstrings - damn your hormones!) and took to rummaging in her tidy but well-stocked pantry. 

You could see a number of canned items, tinned fruit and vegetables, not to mention a number of canisters labelled with basic baking ingredients. A number of herbs were dried and stored on a higher shelf, your eyes trailing over their tidy bundles. Her son’s perchance for presentation seemed to have been inherited as well.

Maggie turned back to you, holding a small tarnished tin, the word **TEA** stamped on the side. She gave it a light shake, “Peppermint alright, sugar? I’m sure that little one is givin’ your stomach a good turn.”

You nodded briefly, your hand absentmindedly drifting to your stomach, your hand landing on the small pouch of bump that rested behind your clothing. Sitting down, the natural curve of your body’s position made it so you could feel the distention in the muscle and skin there. You felt another pulse of anger, and you were sure Maggie caught sight of it on your face as she moved to place the steaming mug in front of you.

“Thank you, Mama.” you murmured quietly, making the conscious choice to raise the hand that had been resting on your belly to instead move to touch the handle on the mug, pointer fingering tracing the curve of it. 

Maggie settled herself across from you, hands smoothing down the simple house frock she was wearing and then folding them around her own mug, although you noted her fingers thrummed against it. She wore a slight frown, something that looked out of place on her delicate features. 

“Perhaps it isn’t my place,” she said after a moment, the crease in between her brows lessening slightly. “But I know my Allie, and I know he cares for you.” Maggie shifted slightly in her seat, eyes intensely trained on you despite the soft tone to her words. There was a small moment in which she paused.

“Now I’m certainly not saying that excuses his little disappearing act, but…” Maggie’s sharp eyes trailed over your form, and once again you were struck by the feeling the other woman was somehow x-raying you. “If he hurt you or has upset you in some way, just know he cares.”

Maggie lifted her mug to her mouth but paused just before taking a sip. She blew on it daintily, before taking a small drink. Her dark eyes remained locked on you, however, the lines in her forehead not completely eased. When she lowered the mug again, her lips were set in a firm line. 

“Alastor isn’t like others,” Maggie murmured, and you caught yourself leaning forward slightly to hear her better, your own mug of tea forgotten in front of you. “He never has been. As much as a charmer as that boy is, all his fancy talk doesn’t amount to a hill of beans! He’s as awkward as a newborn colt when it comes to understanding the emotions of others; to be fair, I’m not quite certain he understands his own.” 

She reached out and laid a comforting hand on your forearm, although it was marred slightly by the small wink she gave. “I’m not saying don’t give him hell, of course.” 

Unlike Alastor, you practically lived for physical touch. 

Your efforts to convey your emotions through verbal expression was a bit more difficult and more heightened in cases of extreme tension than perhaps it would have been for the silver-tongued man that the two of you discussed. Because of that, you brought your hand up and placed it over her own, giving it a light squeeze as if to assure her that while you were not looking to kill him, you were definitely going to try getting to the bottom of it. You licked your lips a bit anxiously.

“It just frustrates me because I feel like he’s going to do this more. Just… run away when things are difficult. I _guess_ I should be a little bit more patient with him, but he just…” 

You let out a heavy sigh and let yourself slump into the chair, completely disregarding the high-class posture that was ingrained in your lifestyle at a very young age. “If this child,” you murmured, looking down at your belly and running a hand over the bump that was a bit more visible now, especially when the fabric was pushed down against it.

“If this child,” you repeated, “has a fragment of his wonderful, _infuriating_ mind…” You trailed off. 

“He can’t be hiding away, Mama. He said that we were going to do this together, but I feel _alone_ sometimes.” A frown decorated your lips before you leaned over to grab the tea, only to bring it to your mouth and nurse at it. A comfortable silence filled the space, the minty taste running down your throat and soothing your muscles and perhaps even your mind. 

It also helped your curling stomach. 

“I know he cares for me.” You finally sighed into the lip of the cup, the ripples of your breath tainting the faint tan tea - appropriately decorated with a peppermint leaf. It felt nice to spill your emotions and thoughts to Maggie, considering that eventually she would be your mother-in-law, and was already the grandmother to the developing life nestled safely within your womb. 

Especially since if she hadn’t been there, and Alastor had been, it would have looked a whole lot different. It was probably better for the baby, too. “I feel like I know him, but then again, I feel like I know nothing about him at all. It’s… It’s weird.” You made a face to accompany such a truth. 

Maggie’s face split into a gentle grin, and before you had time to quite comprehend what was happening, the other woman was standing in front of you, her small hands delicately cupping your face. You felt a rush of warmth at her affection, unable to help yourself from giving her a timid smile in response. 

“My sweet girl,” Maggie’s tone was effervescent, as though genuine emotion infused each word. “That baby inside you is a _blessing_. No matter what others might try to tell you.” 

One of Maggie’s hands came up to brush back your hair, tucking it behind an ear. From this close up, you could clearly see the lines of her face and you were struck with the sudden realization that you had no idea just what this woman - the mother of the father of _your_ child - had lived through or experienced. 

Likewise, while you knew Alastor had faced his own fair share of adversity, the man hadn’t shared much of his younger years with you. You had been so caught up in his fast-paced lifestyle, towed along in his powerful wake, that you hadn’t thought to question much about the man he was before you came to know him. 

Perhaps sensing your inner turmoil, Maggie moved to give you a hug once again. As she pulled back, she pressed a quick kiss to your forehead; your heart leapt, a burst of emotion welling in your chest. The action had been so gentle, so motherly, and just unexpected enough to give you a small jolt of surprise. Your ever-changing and raging hormones were to thank, you were sure, for the tears collecting in the corner of your eyes. 

If Maggie noticed them when she dropped her hands from your face and stepped back, she didn’t call attention to it. Something you were grateful for. There was some odd sense of heavy, rawness suddenly in the air, and you were thankful for the pause while you steadied yourself again. 

When your composure had returned, you turned admittedly still wet eyes to Maggie. 

“I know,” you whispered, unsure if your voice would go much higher without the risk of cracking with emotion. Your hands flexed where they sat, having returned to your lower stomach yet again - a show of your nerves coming to the surface again. “I just hope Alastor feels the same.”

“Oh honey,” Maggie hushed, shifting to sit down once again. This time her hands moved to take both of yours, her thumbs brushing over the backs of your hands. “Of course that big egg thinks so! And as much as I am truly touched that you can talk to me about all of this, I think we both know who it is you need to speak with.”

The other woman gave you a close look, perhaps waiting to see if you would grow emotional again, before seeming to choose her next words carefully. 

“Marriage isn’t easy, my dear girl.” Maggie murmured, her eyes shifting to stare at some spot on the table; you recognized it immediately as the look of someone who had immediately recalled something personal.

“The two of you need to learn how the other communicates and leave room for the other’s needs. Now, it’ll take time and some emotional elbow grease, but you’ll be a team at the end of the day, and that’s all that matters. That,” here she gave a small nod in the direction of your overly petite bump. 

“-And this little gift. Besides, you’re family now, and that means you are certainly far from alone.”

_You were family._

It caused your heart to catch in your throat, practically. Bringing your arm up, you hastily wiped away the tears that had begun to trail down your cheeks at the revelation. When at last you composed yourself once again, you sniffled and turned slightly to dig into the pocket of your dress. “I got this for him.” You whispered softly, and finally felt the case. 

When you pulled it out, you ran your thumb over the hand-crafted wooden box, before putting it on the table. You had barely any time to truly look at it save for a peek considering how angry you had been, but now that Maggie had calmed you down, you had time to truly appreciate it.

“It’s his wedding band.” You rubbed the back of your neck anxiously. “I got it custom-made from a local blacksmith, a friend of the family. It’s made of live oak and antlers of a white-tail, since I know he likes hunting.” You weren’t even sure if you should have been showing his mother, but you couldn’t help feel a bit antsy and excited to get her opinion on it. 

Maggie made a soft, rather strange strangled kind of noise, one hand flying to press two fingers against her lips. Your eyes snapped to her at the sound of it, as though worried she might be fighting back anger or disapproval. Instead, you saw her dark eyes glistening, wetness gathering in the crinkled corners as a wide smile spread across her face. 

Her other hand she held out to you, palm up, silently asking to see the ring closer. Your belly swooped with a mixture of nerves and excitement; it seemed an odd choice given the romantic nature of such a thing, but you desperately hoped she would approve of it. 

You placed the box in the middle of her hand and watched with poorly concealed impatience as Maggie brought it closer to be inspected. The hand that had been pressed to her mouth drifted down to lay across her chest, just above her heart. 

"Y-You did this all on your own?" Maggie practically whispered, a strange look on her face as a few stray tears rolled down her cheeks. 

Worry bloomed in your gut. Maybe you had read this all wrong...

"Yes ma'am." You murmured, your inbred social niceties coming to the surface as if to combat the spike of nerves simmering in your stomach. 

"Well..." Maggie trailed off, more tears dampening her cheeks. She raised a shaky hand to brush them away, her lips pressing into a thin line before she seemed to gather herself with a deep breath. "You really are somethin' else."

She closed the box carefully and handed it back to you; just as your fingers wrapped around it, her own closed upon yours. She gave you a gentle pat on the back of your hand and then moved away to the stove, dabbing the corners of her eyes with the side of her frock. 

You remained there for a moment that felt like forever before you realized that you had begun to smile, and after a moment of running your finger over the ring, you closed the box and put it back into your pocket - surely it wasn’t the safest place to store it, but it would work the time being. After all was said and done, you leaned back into the chair and sipped on the peppermint tea, allowing yourself to slip into a comfortable silence along with the gentle humming of Maggie.

Needless to say, after stressing for nearly a month, you had dismissed yourself to the couch to rest. There was a throw blanket that you had covered yourself with, and one of Alastor’s pillows that Maggie had fetched for you even when you had said you could get it yourself, at least at this point where you could still walk around and get up without assistance.

But she had already returned with it before you could argue further. 

You could have slept in his bed if you had wanted, and it probably would have been more comfortable, but it almost felt _invasive_ when you were torn with yourself and if there was anything, you still respected his privacy, even when your petty side tried to get you to trash the entire place and then blame it on your hormones. But as petty as you were, you weren’t reckless enough to go so far as to make the point that you were upset with him, and rightfully so.

As scared as you were from the anxiety that wreaked havoc on your poor mind, your body was far too exhausted to continue something as simple as thinking _;_ somehow, your mind had begun to associate this place as an area of safety. 

So beneath the early evening light and roaring fireplace, you curled up and fell asleep. 

Night had fallen over the streets of New Orleans by the time Alastor arrived home, well past the dinner hour. The clock hand was edging closer to the eight on its face as he breezed up the steps and through the front door as though he truly had no care in the world. His overcoat was tossed on a hook, as was the cap he had adorned.

The day’s newspaper was tucked under one arm, as his other hand was busying rummaging in his slacks’ pocket until he found the crumpled, worn edges of the pack of cigarettes he had stashed there. His shadow bled down the wall as soon as Alastor struck the match tip, light glinting off his glasses as it lit the smoke.

Alastor casually walked past the monstrosity that had come alive from the faded walls, some tune falling from his lips as he hummed, occasionally puffing away at the smoke. 

He normally preferred cloves, but he had been slowly making his way through the pack he had stolen off the man he had stuck in the alleyway. The stream of smoke followed him down the hallway, seeming to warp and twist as though some invisible force was propelling it, before being manifested into yet another inky mass, several unblinking, burning eyes watching him closely.

The short clips of his heels were the only sound for a few moments until his eyes landed on your form, tucked away on the sitting room couch and wrapped under enough blankets that you maintained none of your original human shape and looked more like a cocoon.

“Fuck,” Alastor grumped, breaking the silence of the room.

At the sound of his voice, the shadows around him dissipated like a low fog rolling over the bog. Thankfully, you neither stirred nor showed any other signs of life except for the continuous steady pattern of your deep breathing.

The man hesitated, unsure if he should wake you and get the inevitable fight started and finished hopefully sooner rather than later, or if he should simply let you rest and hope you woke to feel refreshed and perhaps relieved to see him rather than murderous. 

The choice was stolen from him when a hand landed on an earlobe, fingers pinching the sensitive skin, as he was tugged down on a severe angle.

“ _You_.” Maggie hissed, dragging her son by the ear behind her, an impressive feat given his looming height over her. Her voice was quiet enough that it did not carry back to the living room, although her ire was more than evident.

She didn't speak again until mother and son had reached the relative privacy of the kitchen; since it was tucked away at the back of the home, it was less likely their voices would stir you. 

Once they entered the room, Maggie dropped her hold on her son's ear (the man cupping it, trying to rub some relief into the tender spot there) and moved to the sink where she leaned and crossed her arms. The glare she gave the man across from her made him silently slink into the nearest chair, mouth still down in a pout but now coupled with narrowed eyes as though he was suspicious he might get hit.

“You,” Maggie started again, this time her lips twitching into a frown. 

Alastor felt a rather ugly feeling blossom in his gut at the sight. Of all people, seeing his mother upset was one that stung quite deeply.

Not quite as deeply as the cookbook that flew at his head. Alastor managed to duck and therefore missed taking the brunt of the attack; however, one corner managed to clip the top of his head, enough that he gave a sound of pain.

“Mama!” The man barked, unable to keep the sharp note of surprise from his voice.

“Oh, don't you ‘mama’ me, you brute!” Maggie's hands dropped to her hips; Alastor's eyes tracked her motions closely, body subconsciously leaning away from hers. 

“That poor girl came by outta the blue, lookin' for your sorry hide, tellin’ me you haven't seen her in almost a month even though that is _your_ baby cooking inside her! Now, I know I raised you better than all this, Alastor, so you better start usin' that brilliant mind of yours to figure out a solution to this problem.”

“I was planning on speaking with her,” he muttered, one hand still held to the sore spot atop his head. 

Let no one say that Maggie Beauchamp had lost any of her moxie.

“Oh, really?” Maggie sighed, hand moving to pinch the bridge of her nose. Near twenty-nine years she had been raising this fool in front of her, and a part of her marvelled at the _audacity_ he possessed.

“If you were planning on speaking with the girl, why is she here, Alastor? Why is your pregnant fiancé showing up, madder than a wet hen, talkin' about having to track you down because _you've_ gone cold on her and run off after some fight?” Maggie paused long enough in her rambling to suck in a breath, some of her original anger evaporating as she took in the strange, closed look on her son's face.

“Whatever it is you've done...” Maggie said softly, eyes narrowed slightly still. “You best fix it.”

There was a beat as Alastor stared at his mother, his dark eyes (so much like her own) slightly unfocused as though he was off in some deep thought. As if a testament to her understanding of her own child, Maggie stayed quiet, watching as he worked through his inner turmoil on his own terms.

“I balled up.” Alastor muttered, voice hushed as though he was confessing; he might as well have been, given that there was not another soul alive that would ever draw such a verbal response from him. The maternal disappointment was a strong deterrent, and if the man was honest, he knew that if anyone might be able to help him fix the oversight, it would be Maggie.

He would just have to leave out some of the delicate details, of course.

“We had a disagreement,” Alastor finally continued, one knuckle coming to push his glasses back on his nose. “Over a misunderstanding we had. I acted… perhaps less civilized than was called for…"

Maggie blinked owlishly for a moment, trying to wade through the cryptic meaning behind his words. A sharp, knowing look passed over her face, her lips drawing into a tight line. Another long, heavy silence fell between the pair. 

“I thought you were being more careful,” Maggie kept her voice low when she did finally speak again, warning evident in her tone. “I s’pose it’s been you going around bumping off and chucking poor sinners into the river to boot?” she clicked her tongue, readjusting her stance so she could relieve some of the pressure off her overworked feet. “How are you goin’ help raise that baby if you’re swingin’ from a hanging tree?”

Maggie’s eyes darted back to the doorway of the kitchen, as though she had half expected you to be loitering in the hallway, listening in on family secrets. Although, some part of her supposed they were your collective secrets now; that babe in your belly made sure of it. 

“You better mind what you drag that sweet girl into, and if you’ve already done that, I would think you should get busy making amends before there’s no one left in your corner, Allie. I ain’t goin’ to be around forever, y’know. It’d do your ol’ mama’s heart good to see you have a chance at happiness.”

Alastor sighed, slumping back in his chair with his arms crossed over his thin chest. He tipped the chair back so it lifted onto its back legs, the seat wobbling slightly as he fidgeted in a moment of rare unease.

"She don’t know nothin’," he said sullen, looking like the world's lankiest baby. "I've been careful that way."

"Well, she knows what a _sap_ you are so I'd imagine she suspects more than you think." Maggie snapped, her irritation flaring in the face of his continued tantrum. 

There was another moment in which the two stared at each other, Maggie's usually delicate countenance set in a way that made it clear she was less than thrilled and the younger man in front of her would not be winning _this_ argument.

To his credit, Alastor remained in his seat for a few seconds longer, agitatedly knocking the chair legs into the floor as he fidgeted. 

Finally, with a sigh, he heaved himself from his place at the table and moved forward to start brewing a pot of coffee. He had a feeling his night was going to be exponentially long. 

That and a cup of coffee had yet to ever yell at him. Which is what you were sure to do once you had woken up -

On second thought, Alastor thought he might perhaps have a cup first and then wake you. After all, it was perfectly reasonable to want a clear head going into the matter and it was not at all a procrastination technique (thank you very much), even if the exhale that echoed from Maggie sounded as if she was eternally tired of his nonsense. 

Motherly instinct kicked in (she always did have trouble disciplining him once Allie turned those puppy dog eyes on her, as he damn well knew), and she gave him a small, gentle pat on the elbow as she brushed by to busy herself with various prep for the next day, the woman already thinking of making you a care package to take home; loose leaf tea and maybe some other aids might help alleviate some of the physical strain of your pregnancy. 

She ought to throw in something to help deal with the strain of her son, as well, now that she thought about it. Lavender oil with some willow and honeysuckle were soothing for headaches, and what was her son other than the walking embodiment of a raging migraine?

You had always been classified as a light sleeper, your body having its own form of an internal alarm clock or at the very least, it had before you had become exhausted and pregnant. When you came to, it had been at the tail end of the conversation; the voices were muffled enough that in your groggy mind all you could notice was that there were multiple. 

Also, it was dark out now.

_How long had you been sleeping?_

Your eyes naturally went towards the clock that hung upon the wall. Eight. You had slept for five hours, give or take, but now that your mind was going into overdrive, you began to take in every single detail with microscopic precision. It was then and only then did you hear _his_ voice, prominent in the night while the fire roared and so did your god damn temper.

Peeling yourself off of the couch, you wrapped the blanket around your shoulders to drag behind you in perhaps a manner of comfort before slowly coming into Maggie’s view. 

Strangely enough, you didn’t physically appear angry anymore but instead ridiculously tired and disappointed when your eyes landed on the back of his head. Your stomach coiled deep in your body, and you swallowed back on the desire to say something - _anything -_ as you passed by him. 

You knew being ignored pissed him off the most. Touché. 

Plus, you had just woken up, so you were less than thrilled to confront Alastor at the moment. A wave of nausea rolled through you suddenly, and you swallowed harshly before taking a deep breath. You must have gotten up too quickly. 

“Maggie,” you murmured, bringing one fist to clutch the blanket around your neck while the other tiredly rubbed at your eyes, just as a yawn escaped you. “Do you have any blueberries?” A bit odd considering, but you were currently _craving_ them hardcore. Your gaze fell to a different clock then, tick, tick, ticking away the inevitable seconds until you were forced to meet his eyes, take in his presence, and probably argue with him given how frustrating he was at times.

But this time he _had_ gone too far.

So you would do your best to piss him off by giving him a taste of his own medicine. 

Nevertheless, your father had been made aware that you would have been spending the night at _Maggie’s_ house if you hadn’t come home by this point, just so he didn’t worry himself.

He had originally been against it, but upon realizing that it was a lost cause to argue with you, the fact that you two were indeed still together (he hadn’t been made aware of the current situation), and that you were inevitably going to give birth to the child of the most ridiculous, irrevocably irresponsible, antagonistic, feather-ruffling… 

Needless to say, he didn’t _have_ much room for argument.

Alastor had turned at the sound of your voice, the movement seemingly ingrained in his musculature. He covered the movement by lifting his mug of coffee to his lips, dark eyes surveying you closely over the rim of the mug. 

When you failed to meet his glance, Alastor felt another burst of irritation in his chest. 

What was the point of traipsing across the city to find him if you were simply going to ignore him? Your pettiness was astounding at times; that familiar warmth of pride swirled amidst the bitterness of his frustration as he marvelled for a moment at just how well-matched a pair you truly were. 

Maggie had too been eyeing you rather closely since you had entered the kitchen. She had paused over the decanter and a few smaller vials, halfway into the process of putting together her herbal aids, shifting until she faced you. At the question, a gentle smile broke across her face (at odds with the dense stare down her son was currently attempting), just as her arms came to rest loosely over her chest. 

"That little one has you hankerin' for them, honey?" She gave a pleasant chuckle, waving an airy hand at her son as though to dismiss him, although her eyes remained on you. 

Perhaps realizing he was in for double the trouble between you and his mother, Alastor clicked his tongue but otherwise remained quiet. He set his mug down and moved to collect berries from the ice chest. 

Within moments, the man was next to you, a small carton of plump and ripe blueberries sitting on his outstretched palm. He remained quiet, and although you were still mostly turned away from him, you could sense his eyes on you; that burning gaze that made you hesitant to actually look at him. 

“Yes ma’am.” Your attention remained on her for a long moment before you managed to let out a sigh and turn to him. His scent clouded around you, but instead of it being comforting, instead of you wanting to melt into him, you only felt the desire to get _away_. He was suffocating in everything he did, and when it came to you, quite literally. 

“Thanks.” Your response was clipped when you finally took the carton away from him, the heat of his palm radiating through the otherwise cold container and suddenly making you feel very nauseated and _focused_ on the inevitable conversation. Although, if you were being completely honest with yourself, it would probably escalate into an argument.

But at the very least, you would try if he tried.

You still had a right to be angry, though.

Plus, you were an incredibly petty person and often didn’t think before you spoke.

With that, you turned around with a flare of your makeshift cape and began to head into the living room once more, not even attempting to wait until you sat down to pop open the lip and absolutely go ham on the blueberries. 

Alastor watched you stalk off, blanket rippling slightly behind you as you put as much space between him and yourself as you could before the inevitable confrontation. Selfishly, the man himself took a moment to linger in the kitchen; although he knew full well he had to go after you, he would give you time to settle before he would follow. 

Besides, his coffee was still warm. 

Alastor managed two gulps before the back of an oven mitt connected with his ear; he gave a weird, muffled cough as he inhaled both coffee and a gulp of air in surprise. 

“Go on then, you yellow-bellied fool,” Maggie squared her son with a stern eye, disapproval once again marring her features as she watched him place down his cup. “And you better behave yourself; this is about more than just you and her, now, remember that.”

“Yes, mama.” Alastor murmured, hand moving to gingerly touch his ear before he finally made the short walk into the living room. 

His shadow met him in the hallway, its form growing and shifting from its average shape until it was fully formed and unfurling along the wallpaper. Its eyes were narrowed slightly, more than open in its suspicion and accusation. Alastor’s eyes flickered over the void-like silhouette, a slight sneer working over his face in spite of himself. 

Just his luck; of course even his shadows would be as charmed by you like everyone else. It was beginning to look decidedly ill-fated for his side after all...

As he came around the corner, his shadow’s opacity faded enough so that he knew that while it might linger in the hall, it was safely out of your sight and hidden in the soft lamplight. Next, his eyes landed on your frame, still wrapped in the blanket and not-so-delicately picking through the carton of blueberries like you had never tasted fruit in your life. 

A rather ugly feeling of guilt coiled in his stomach then, although once Alastor had pinpointed the exact emotion, he felt another spike in irritation in response. He knew all too well he had gone too far; after all, you were correct in thinking that was why he had been absent for almost a month. 

_Nearly four weeks_.

Three and a half long, torturous weeks in which the usually-brilliantly minded man struggled to make sense of the emotional war that had followed that night. He felt equal parts of anger and frustration; had you not asked him to push your limitations? It just so happened that _his_ limitations were well beyond what might be considered average for any other man. 

And then there was the exceptional confusing feeling that lingered alongside the liability.

_Shame._

Alastor had never truly had to contend with such emotions before you had come along. Sure, Maggie had always been able to make him feel sorry for whatever mischief he got himself into along the way as he had grown up, but it was nothing compared to the searing flame of guilt that had plagued him since he had fled your room, leaving you bruised and used. And, of course, still carrying his child. 

Therein laid your unique hold on him, he was certain of it- 

The warring emotional turmoil seemed to curdle the coffee he had drank, his stomach rolling and flipping dangerously in mimicry of the whirling thoughts plaguing in his mind. He hoped to approach this logically, calmly… without being punched _too_ hard. 

Alastor’s hands nervously fiddled with his bowtie, loosening it slightly as he stepped towards you once more. He sighed then, his following words sounding tired and almost timid in nature. 

“Darling...” Alastor came to stand awkwardly just off to your side, one of his hands automatically reaching for you. He seemed to come to his senses, however, and he dropped it back to his side before he made contact with you. 

Good for him. 

If you could have been born within the twenty-first century or had the technology that came with it, you probably wouldn’t have been here in the first place. You probably would have just texted him a big, fat, >:( in response to his irritating persona. 

But no, you hadn’t the luxury to do such a thing, and so as part of the Interbellum Generation as you were, you wrapped yourself tighter into the blanket and shoved another blueberry into your mouth. 

You briefly wondered how it would taste if you poured melted chocolate on it. 

_Oh, cravings._ The blueberries would do for now, though. 

Heaving a heavy breath, you grabbed a blueberry, looked up to him, and popped it into your mouth. Chew, chew, swallow. Your eyes narrowed slowly, perhaps just to make him feel that much more exposed and uncomfortable for your own pleasure - he was an asshole, and this was the treatment that assholes (Alastor) got. 

Breaking eye contact, you placed the container of berries on the side-table and found yourself getting lost in thought of all the things that you _could_ say: 

“So,” you would have started, perhaps. “Looks like you haven’t changed a bit.” It would have been insanely difficult to keep your voice neutral. He was still the lanky man you had come to painfully adore, while you had grown to possess a very real consequence of the two of your actions. You would come to stand before him again, expression unreadable as you held the blanket around you a bit tighter. 

“I have.” Physically. Perhaps mentally, if he kept pulling this shit. “But you wouldn’t know that, would you?” A loud sigh would then escape you as you moved back towards the couch, and then probably ride off into the sunset or something. 

But that didn’t happen. 

Instead, you remained in a heap and settled yourself into the arm rest, leaning your elbow against it and with it, your chin within your palm. What you _did_ say, however, only further clarified your exhaustion and the baggage that he brought with him. In what seemed to be a silent stare down, albeit you were finally returning to reality, you let out another huff.

“You have two minutes-” 

Your nose crinkled slightly.

“-Uninterrupted, to start explaining.”

So, at this point your silence was probably obvious that you were ridiculously upset with him. 

“One minute, fifty-nine seconds…” 

Alastor’s nose crinkled almost identically to yours, although his mouth twitched into a small snarl, teeth slightly bared. He seemed to be locked in some internal, albeit brief, struggle, battling back the surging crest of anger he felt at your open challenge. Still, he managed to swallow past the bitterness that settled on the back of his tongue and took a deep, almost shuddering breath. 

Alastor raised a hand, pointer finger up as if to drive home his point, but when his lips parted he seemed to struggle; his jaw worked several times before he swallowed heavily again. 

You raised a slightly disbelieving eyebrow - if this man honestly thought you were going to fall for this _act_ , he was sorely mistaken. Your eyes jumped to the clock again, the smallest hand still steadily ticking away. 

“One minute and ten seconds,” you said, sounding almost bored in the face of his deliberate contriteness; your belly was still simmering with your own anger, but you knew _this_ would piss him off more. “Not your best performance, Al.” You couldn’t keep the harsh bite from your tone as you eyed him. 

Alastor bared his teeth again, far too confrontational to be called anything near close to his customary smile, although this time the tip of his tongue darted out to wet his lips. In the next moment, between his furiously clenching jaw line and a few false starts, the man managed to speak your name out loud, although the sound carried a hint of his own frustration. 

He paused, and once again the silence remained for longer than you had believed it would; off to the side, the clock remained _tick tick ticking_ away and you wondered wildly if this man was a big enough boob to actually run down the timer, the thought doing nothing to combat the rising swell of anger in your chest - 

“You,” Alastor murmured, the word unexpected enough that it drew your eye back to him. 

_Me?_ You wanted to snap back, but you managed to hold your tongue.

His normally proudly straight back was hunched forward slightly, his long arms dangling uselessly at his sides. His fingers, long and graceful, bunched madly at the thin air as though he was making one last attempt at grasping his common sense. 

For a second, it looked as though Alastor meant to step towards you, but he caught himself at the last moment, instead doing an odd sort of pirouette and skulking off to the large, wingback chair that sat well across the room from where you were on the couch. 

Alastor threw his form into it with little care, one hand coming up to rub at his chin as he lowered his elbow to rest on the sidearm. He peered at you with narrowed eyes flashing behind his glasses, his hand still pressed to his mouth as if he were afraid of suddenly spilling secrets. 

“You confuse me.” He finally spoke, the ticking clock seemingly forgot as you squared your shoulder to stare down whatever excuse he was going to throw at you now. 

“And not in the way we’ve, ah, previously discussed.” Alastor’s eyes trailed over your body, most of it still hidden away under your makeshift blanket cloak; you knew he was referring to his aversion to physical touch, his indifference to the more carnal activities that seemed to chase every young dandy. 

He had been open with you, that much was true, but the man’s lack of experience, or even his apparent lack of drive, hardly excused his behaviour. You were just as inexperienced as him, but you were more than certain that most people didn’t go about nearly _suffocating_ their romantic partners!

“I did as you asked.” This time, the note of his _moping_ was back, Alastor’s dark eyes glittering in the soft light of the room. His chin rested in his palm now, his head tilted as though studying you closely. 

He was almost _too_ composed now, considering the topic at hand. You had expected to be met with his anger, his frustration, all the usual fiery passion the man spouted; instead, you felt the baby-fine hair at the back of your neck stand to attention, a small chill running down your spine. 

You gave yourself a mental shake, pushing past what you were sure was nothing more than a rush of your body’s stress response; you felt another rush of irritation, this time loosening your tongue as you prepared to snark at him. 

Alastor cut you off before your mouth had even opened, his hand held up as though cajoling you. His gaze darted to the clock face before he realized he hadn’t exactly been counting down. He turned his attention back to you, his hand lowering until it came to rest on the sidearm, his fingers thrumming an anxious beat. 

Whether he meant to or not, the weird low keening noise he often made when in distress permeated the air, and Alastor shifted forward so his elbows could rest on his knees, his ridiculously long legs bent at a sharp angle. 

“I did as you asked,” he repeated, the muscles in his face twitching as he paused, his lips pulled down slightly at the corners. “But, I-ah-I obviously pushed you too far and for that -”

Alastor paused, lips drawn in a tight line. He took in a deep breath, his gaze once more flowing over your form, the words of his mother from before echoing in his head, before the line of his mouth softened slightly. 

“For that, I am sorry, darling.” He murmured, his hands clenching in the fabric of his slacks; Alastor was suddenly torn between bolting from the room and throwing himself at you, the urge to bury his face in the sweet-smelling safety of your neck almost overwhelming in front of your scrutiny. 

You remained silent for the longest time, your eyes finally letting up in their narrowed manner (although perhaps it was because you could feel the beginnings of a headache starting to form). You shifted slightly in your own growing anxiety and discomfort of the situation, but it was quickly washed away by the realization that he had said ‘ _for that’._

“You’re right.” You finally said, turning your attention to watch the popping of the embers from the fireplace; it was almost an enchanting view - but perhaps that was because it reminded you of the frustration and steadily growing anger that was settling deep in your stomach. 

Flint and stone had already created the smallest of flames. 

“I had a lot of time to think about why I said that, y’know, and I think it’s because I didn’t want to believe you would actually…” You hesitated and fell into another bout of silence, albeit this time you rooted your hand into your hair in a manner to ground yourself. “Hurt me.” You had thought that he wouldn’t have gone _that_ far, but alas. Alastor was Alastor.

_And he did._

Just as you had thought you would make it through this like mature adults for some miraculous reason, you were suddenly reminded of the fact that he didn’t even _mention_ leaving. 

_Tick_

_Tick_

_Tick_

“You have no excuse for leaving, Alastor.” You frowned softly, just as your eyes came back to land upon his through the glint of his glasses. 

“When you promised that we were in this together, I feel like that was just sweet talk. I _know_ that you’re scared, but I’m scared too, but you can’t just disappear whenever you feel mildly uncomfortable!” Your voice cracked slightly - you weren’t even truly angry, you were just… well, you were _sad._

But perhaps that was the worst type of anger of all.

And from it, your frustrations unraveled.

“I don’t even really _know_ you. I don’t know your favorite colors, seasons, I don’t even know your damn birthday. I’m trying to get to know you but you just… _don’t!”_ Your hands flew out suddenly, and the blanket slipped off of your shoulders. You barely noticed.

“I am trying to be patient with you, really! But when you leave for a whole month without even a letter sent, and I’m left to come to _your_ house only to find that you have been holed up in your radio station instead of coming to talk to me about _all of this,_ how do you think I feel!?”

You huffed a breath.

“I have a lot more reason to be uncomfortable and out of my element than you do, Alastor, so _grow up._ ” 

In truth, you didn’t - each of you had your own experiences and challenges to face, but you were very quickly becoming clouded by your own frustration that you couldn’t tell the difference.

From his perch across the room, Alastor’s thrumming fingers finally stopped, clenching into the fabric of the side of the chair. 

The rushing sound of his blood pumping filled his ears, a sure sign that his agitation was quickly rising to a place where he might struggle to come back down from. The man’s nostrils flared, minutely fogging up his glasses before he finally moved to clean them, wiping them rather haphazardly on his shirt before replacing them, one knuckle edging the frames up on the bridge of his nose. 

When he turned his attention back to you, you thought you caught the glimpse of some strange look filtering across his face, the lines and contour of his usually handsome features looking almost warped, melded, as the light from the flickering fireplace danced across his skin.

“ _Grow up_.” Alastor repeated, apparently unable to do nothing more than parrot your words back to you, although his tone was louder than before, edged by his vexation. 

“Well, you’re not wrong in that I’ve been holed up at work -” his eyes darted to the entrance of the room, as though a puzzle piece had just dropped into his lap.

Alastor sniffed, leaning back in his chair more to observe you again. “I s’pose Maggie told you… did she mention that I’ve been working _near_ around the clock? Did she mention _why_?”

He leaned forward then, the action swift enough to cause you to lean back, even though you were still seated across the room from him on the couch. Alastor’s temper was simmering closer to the surface, and while he knew he had been far from in the right for disappearing for the time he did (you were right, perhaps he _should_ have sent a letter but the expectations of relationships still escaped him at times), the accusatory tone to your words had done nothing to settle his ire. 

He had done as Maggie had suggested - he didn’t apologize often ( _at all_ , really) - and while he admittedly didn’t think the confrontation would be smoothed over easily, Alastor had been slightly taken aback by your response. The man’s irritation stirred him to his feet, his hands folding behind his back as he began to pace on the slightly worn, decorative rug that laid across the floorboards of the room. 

“Why, I s’pose I’ve only been playing make-believe!” his words were hardened, and Alastor found he had to look anywhere _but_ you, in case he was stirred to make another course of action that would royally screw what little progress had been made. “Dressing up in my suit ‘n tie and prancing off to the station to simply smash buttons here and roll recordings there.”

The fireplace emitted a loud crackling ‘pop’, spitting another ember to the floor. Neither of you noticed, your eyes locked on the pacing man in front of you and Alastor quickly tumbling down into the depths of a rambling rant. 

“Despite all I’ve done, how far I’ve taken the programming,” he was muttering more to himself now than to you, you realized as he continued on his path around the small rug. “I bring in less per show than my coworkers, and I think we can both assume why…”

Here, Alastor paused and spun sharply on his heel; from his great height, he managed to lock eyes with you, an odd emotion simmering in their depths, just behind his outward frustration. 

“You think that child will cost pennies to raise?” His voice was soft, but there was a hard edge to the strain of his jaw as he spoke. “I have to work twice as hard as any other in order to make sure I can take care of the two of you, and with times already as hard as they are, I need to put in the hours. So when the station manager approached me with this idea, I-”

The man trailed off, running a hand through his slicked-back hair so that it came away slightly mussed. He was breathing in sharply through his nose, lips pressed firmly together once more - he was desperately trying to keep a lid on his temper, knowing you were only likely to meet it with your own. 

At that rate, the two of you would be here until that babe popped out. 

Alastor took a moment to push his glasses back up his nose, lanky arms coming to fold across his thin chest. After a heavy moment of the two of you glaring at each other, he dropped them to his sides and moved back to his chair, once again throwing his body into it like some giant toddler. 

“I thought I was being more clear,” he murmured then, his normally _oh,_ so alluring dark eyes blatantly staring you down. 

Or at least attempting to. 

You weren’t one to go down without a fight, to be fair. 

“About the type of man I am. This will not be some fairy tale romance,” a small sneer spread across his face as Alastor leaned forward again; he almost seemed unable to help himself from attempting to enter your space, even if it spanned half the room.

“The streets won’t crowd with people hailing us for this relationship, the chapel bells won’t ring out across the city when you take my ring, nor will the chaps loitering about the hospital take any cigar I pass out in celebration.”

Alastor gave you a pointed look, his hand moving to his slack pocket as if subconsciously stirred to, flushing the now crumpled pack of smokes from its depths. He took a moment to strike a match, also fished from his pants pocket, and took a deep drag as he eyed you through the curling smoke. 

“I saw my first lynching when I was seven.” His eyes tracked you then, as he shifted on the chair. “I know what’s likely waiting for that poor sinner once it’s out of your belly, not to mention what _I’ll_ surely face. I’m not sure I’m the one who should _grow up_.”

Another heavy pause filled the room as his words died off. Perhaps catching the full effect, finally, of his choice of words, Alastor took another drag off his cigarette before smashing it down into the ashtray that sat not too far away. He really did prefer his cloves.

“I should have written you,” there was a note of trideption in the man’s tone now. “Or, found some way to check in on you… the both of you…” Alastor motioned to your lap, which had fallen in his sights now that the blanket had fallen down to puddle at your hips. 

If he had more to say, the urge to say it apparently died on his lips as his eyes widened slightly, another odd look passing over his face before he pressed his first two fingers of one hand to his lips. His eyes were trained on you, once again making you feel as though you were being x-rayed, but Alastor remained quiet. 

Out of all the things he had said, out of all the apologies he could have uttered to you, and while you were vaguely aware of his explanation, you were solely focused on the fact that he was trying to detach himself, even subconsciously, from the fact that there was a baby inside of you. _His_ child. 

“The poor sinner?” You couldn’t keep the laugh that escaped you in that moment. 

“You’re a funny man,” you pointed at him just as you moved to stand up again, your attention falling to the stack of logs into the corner. Despite the fire already roaring at its maximum potential, you grasped one (had the brief thought to throw it at him) before tossing it into the fireplace.

You sighed heavily.

“ _The poor sinner_ is your son or daughter, Alastor. She or he is not an it.” 

You frowned as you turned away from the fireplace to gaze upon him with a rather forlorn expression. Your hormones were absolutely affecting you at this point, and your rampaging emotions meant that not everything made much sense when it came to situations when they were sparked into overdrive. Your exhaustion was prevalent through your actions, but none so more than you _not_ trying to fight.

Because you were a petty creature at heart, and you often started fights because of that.

That longing, as your anger began to fade away (miraculously, as long as he didn’t piss you off again), began to make a comeback, and you found yourself willing to forgive _somewhat._ You were still upset with him, though. 

Which was to be expected.

“I know she or he will be discriminated against, and it’s unfair. I _know.”_ Your tongue ran across your lips. “But whoever they will be, I want them to know that they have a family. I want them to have that security, that safety net.” 

You looked to the flickering flames again.

“I want to be a family.” You whispered. “But I can’t do this alone. I can’t worry your mother, I don’t want to bring her into our problems. She doesn’t deserve that.” You shook your head. “So don’t _make_ me by doing this stupid shit, and just talk to me.” Because lord knows he did that well.

Alastor had remained seated during your movement to the fireplace, although his eyes (wide and unblinking still) had tracked you the entire way. Even now, as you faced him, he stayed as he was, fingers pressed to his mouth. Since you were standing in front of the fire, you blocked some of the light and so half of his face was hidden in shadow, the other lit up by the soft orange illumination.

You frowned but bit your tongue. You had said what you needed. 

Within a few moments of continued silence, minus the popping of the logs as they burnt, Alastor finally lifted his fingers from his face, only to extend his arm and point rather accusingly at you. 

_Was this chicken-shit serious?_

Your brows creased even more in response and you crossed your arms; you had hoped to slowly de-escalate things but if he was itching for another round - the flare of annoyance that bloomed in your chest at his theatrics proved you would be able to meet that demand. 

Alastor’s jaw clenched a few times (you were quickly coming to know this look as ‘ _dumbass struggles to vocalize emotions’_ ), nostrils flaring like some winded animal - definitely a quirk of his that you noticed in times where he relied more on instinct than actual thought - before the man finally appeared to regain control of his vocal cords, although he had to clear his throat roughly. 

“You, ah-” His fingers went from pointing to you to curling in on themselves, so he made a kind of half fist. “You’re _rounder_.” 

You blinked, the full weight of his words washing over you like a bucket of cold water. Your hand flew to your lower belly, where the soft curve of your bump was noticeable, even more so with the firelight acting as a spotlight and illuminating your changing form. 

“Alastor!” You couldn’t help your voice from rising just from the indignation alone. 

_Rounder!?_

“I’m _pregnant_ , you overstuffed, pompous _ass!_ ” Your anger reached boiling point and, unable to remain tucked away neatly under your ingrained niceties, you briefly wondered if you could slip your shoe off and chuck it at his head before he realized. In hindsight, you should’ve thrown the log after all. 

“Of course I’m going to be ‘rounder’! Of all the _mind-numbingly stupid, tactless_ things -”

It was thanks to his long legs - this, and surely nothing more - that made it so you blinked and Alastor appeared just before you. One hand was outstretched, although this time it appeared to hesitate and remain suspended in the air as if the urge to touch you was almost too much and he was only just holding back.

You glared at it.

His hand dropped with a sullen finality after a heartbeat, and the man even took another step back, so to grant you more space. 

“Sweetheart…” Alastor murmured, his gaze finally moving from the small curve of your stomach to meet your eyes. Some new emotion, one you couldn’t quite place, was smouldering in his dark eyes.

His mouth opened a few more times, each time his tongue doing nothing more than getting stuck to the roof of his mouth it seemed, unable to form the words he usually was able to craft without any trouble. 

After what was - you assumed - a quick inner tussle with his emotions, Alastor settled for gesturing rather lamely at you, his mouth quirked to one side in some charming mixture of roguish uncertainty. 

He wanted nothing more than to reach for you, to _feel_ and see the evidence of this little life (the thought had taken prominence in his mind at first glance) the pair of you had managed to bring about; lines had been crossed, however, and Alastor knew if anything was to move beyond this moment, it was at your doing. 

He had learned that much, at least.

“Don’t ‘sweetheart’ me, you blubbering fool.” You exhaled harshly through your nose before you fell silent, the air rather thick and suffocating in the moments that passed as you trailed your gaze to his outstretched hand, until it stopped.

“Stop acting like I’m your worst fear,” you exhaled in exasperation. “Stop acting like you’re scared to even touch me.”

Infuriated but also longing to just be in his arms again, you reached out and grabbed his wrist to lead his hand to rest upon your stomach. The contact made your breath hitch in your throat and you stared down at it, all the while you were mentally preparing a whole speech about how he was an idiot. 

“Just stop _acting_ for once.”

_You weren’t his entertainment, and he wasn’t on a stage._

You remained there for a long moment, those thoughts angered by aggression and frustration wavering in and out of existence. 

As if he had been shuttering some great breath, Alastor heaved a deep sigh, his large hand moving so his fingers spread evenly and he could fully rest it against the soft swell of your lower tummy. 

He cooed your name, the sound surprisingly low and sweet in light of the row you had been engaged in. His touch was warm, permeating through the material of your clothing, and the tenderness of the moment only added to the conflicting emotions inside you. 

Alastor stepped closer to you, although his eyes moved back up to gauge your face, perhaps still a bit worried you might lash out at him (you hadn't ruled it out yet yourself, truth be told). His other hand came to land on your hip as he managed to weasel himself closer until you were nearly brushing fronts, his palm still caught between you two and atop the bump. 

Since he couldn't hide away in your neck (as much as his mind was shouting at him to), Alastor settled for softly closing his eyes and humming quietly to show you he was, at the very least, still listening. 

Ever the glutton for anything that had to do with you, Alastor took a selfish moment to enjoy the feel of your curves, both familiar and new; after all, it had been nearly four long weeks of worry and doubt, waning and waxing anger, and he was finally able to touch you, his fingertips buzzing under the contact. 

He knew easily he would stay attached to you as long as you allowed. 

At the very least, having his eyes closed made it that much more straightforward to open up to you (it wasn't logical but neither was the man himself). 

"I worried you may have changed your mind," he mumbled to the evening air, his eyes shut against your scrutiny. The hand on your hip flexed slightly, although nowhere close enough to be considered uncomfortable. "That you had seen the rougher edges and would be frightened by, well… me." 

Alastor breathed in deeply, close enough now that some of the smell of your shampoo reached his keen nose. For a short moment, the only sound that filled the air was the pleasant hissing and cracking of the burning logs behind you. 

"I meant what I said about us. You aren't alone, far from it darling..." His forehead creased slightly then, his mouth twitching into a grimace. "My work is demanding at times and might take me away for -" Alastor cut himself short - surely a unique occurrence in and of itself - his eyes opening as he became aware of his rambling. 

He managed to meet your eyes, his tongue wetting his lips. 

"Our family is and always will be my focus," the hand on your belly pressed just a little bit closer like the man was trying to sink into you before he started rubbing slow circles there. "And I-I… well… hmm..." 

Alastor paused, unable to stop himself from leaning into your space just a little more - his nose brushed against the tip of yours before he pulled back slightly, a small but charmingly mischievous smile on his lips. 

"Forgive me, sweetheart," Alastor murmured, and you realized he was close enough that you could feel his warm breath washing over your face. "I am rather taken with you - how angry would you be if I kissed you?"

He was making it insanely difficult to stay mad at him.

It pissed you off that much more. He was such a flirt and he _knew_ that you were head over heels for him. It wasn’t fair!

Your gaze wavered from his hand to the distance (or lack there-of) between the two of you and suddenly you had seemed to have forgotten just how to talk. You were a fish out of water, practically flopping and flipping randomly to try to get back to sea, to get back into control, but like always, he stole it from you. _Forgiveness, can you imagine?_

Despite the frustration still very evident in your mind, you couldn’t help but come to terms with the fact that you would never not forgive him. 

Perhaps Alastor would never be able to truly say that he loved you, but there was something that tethered you to each other. There had to be. It wasn’t unrequited, you knew. It was just… well, it would undoubtedly give you a migraine if you thought too much about it, and probably make you frustrated again. 

Not that you weren’t already but-

 _Ugh_.

You raised your hand but instead of slapping him straight out of New Orleans, you gently placed it just beneath his jaw and rubbed your thumb against the warmth of his cheek. The softness that you had missed. Without a word said, you leaned forward and ghosted your lips over his. 

“Don’t disappear on me anymore...” Your voice was but a whisper, whatever held you to the anger forgotten momentarily as you stepped willingly into the jaws of danger. “Not without telling me, at least.” You at least deserved that, right? 

With that said, you closed your eyes and, parting your lips, captured his upper one gingerly, hesitantly, as if all your knowledge and minimal experience had spontaneously disappeared. 

Alastor gave a small whine - quiet enough that it barely sounded above the crackling of the fireplace - at the tentative touch of your lips; he moved into what little spare space remained, his taller form moving almost naturally now to cocoon you under his height, one hand moving to cradle your jaw (just as you did his). 

His lips were warm and soft against yours, pressing delicately as though some part of him couldn’t quite believe you were accepting of it. 

The other hand remained on the small bump that now curved your lower belly outwards ever so slightly. When you shifted closer to him, raising yourself slightly on your tiptoes to meet the press of his mouth, Alastor had been able to feel the stretch of your muscles as your spine straightened; where before you had been yielding, his hand could feel the hardness under your skin, firmness hinting at the change happening inside. 

It was as if another puzzle piece fit itself together inside the man’s mind. The feel of you against him, the telling curve of your body now confirming, finally it seemed, that this _was_ all happening. 

Warmth - poignant, soft and quite unlike he was used to feeling - spread through Alastor’s veins, running its course until it filled him entirely. 

The feeling was exhilarating and yet fulfilling rather than making him hunger for more; his mind’s eye flashed with the memory of him as a child, traipsing in from the nearby swamp, soaked and muddy; and Maggie wrapping him in a blanket warmed by the fire before drawing his lanky body into the safety of her arms. 

Alastor’s form, willowy and spindly even in his grown adult years, sagged ever so slightly against you, although not enough for you to have to suffer any of his extra weight. The smell of your shampoo lingering, the faint taste of blueberry on your stained lips - all of it and something _more_ swirling in his chest as he pressed himself to you.

_What was it?_

For the first time in a long time, the Presence and its many voices that always lurked in the darker recesses of his head were blissfully silent, the moment truly for you and him alone. 

Alastor eventually managed to break his contact with your lower half, his palm running up your side until it could join its fellow and cup just behind your ear, his thumb coming to stroke slowly over the sensitive patch of skin just below your earlobe. His mouth finally pulled back from yours so you could both suck in air, although his nose stayed firmly connected to yours. 

One of his locks of hair had come down from the pomade he slicked it back with, the curl falling dashingly over his forehead and occasionally brushing against your face as he moved to press kisses to both your eyelids and then again to each corner of your lips. 

“Promise, cross m’heart...” Alastor murmured to you then, as he dropped a hand from where it had been resting against the softness of your cheek and moved to his own chest; his pointer and middle finger crossed and he dragged them across the spot where his heart laid. “...’r hope to die.”

All at once, your anger was washed away by the high tide of sheer affection you felt for the man - try as you might, you would never be able to stay angry with him for long, and perhaps if you had been feeling petty still, you would have been pissed off even more at that fact. But more and more as you gazed upon him, felt the ghost of his lips upon yours, still feeling the phantom of them pressing into you, you grew weary of being angry.

It was exhausting.

 _He_ was exhausting, but hey, that was for another argument at another time, because knowing him, it was inevitable for something stupid to resurface especially with your rampaging hormones and his apparent lack of a brain at times. 

Perhaps overcome with emotion in that moment, you were the one to press your lips to his again, brief and chaste but nevertheless a physical reminder that he was there, that you were finally reunited. Pulling away just enough to rub your noses together in an all too familiar show of affection and perhaps even comfort, you brought your hand down and placed it over his own. 

“I forgive you.” 

_But you would never forget._

With a longing that pulsed deep within your body, you pressed yourself closer to him and instead brought your arms around his torso in what was a good ol’ fashioned hug but, in your eyes, was nothing more than the familiar security of _him._ You had missed him in a way that was almost painful. 

It caused you to mumble into his shirt next: 

“Have somethin’ to give you…” But you didn’t want to let go. 

Alastor’s arms wrapped securely around your frame, more than happy to indulge your need for physical affection at this moment. Part of him had been concerned (and more than a little convinced) that you would remain upset for a much longer period than you had. 

The man knew how you felt for him, it was something you never shied away from after all, and now as he stood there in the centre of the living room with you wrapped around his middle like a very short and extra-limbed python, Alastor couldn’t help but try to fathom _why_ you also came with a gift for him. 

Some of his unease crept back, tightening his chest slightly against the warmth that had settled there. You were full of various flights of fancy, one of which was the often free-flying right hook you had unleashed on him in the past. You had said you had forgiven him, however, your ever-changing hormones made you almost as unstable (emotionally anyway) as he was. 

Besides, Alastor wanted nothing more than to press his lips to yours again and again until the last four weeks of misery and loneliness all but evaporated from his memory, replaced instead with the glowing warmth you brought.

Therefore, he rather quickly decided to run with your current amorous mood, and so the man hummed deep in his throat, the sound pleasant and soothing, as though he hoped it would be answered enough without him risking opening his own mouth and ruining progress. 

Leaning your head back, you hesitated before letting the smallest of smiles creep upon your lips - it was true, your hormones were absolutely astronomical and it wasn’t helping that he was just so handsome _and_ frustrating. With your arms still wrapped around him, you rested your chin upon his chest and burrowed your nose into the space of his own. 

“Can you please sit down for me?” You whispered against his lips.

Needless to say, it didn’t take you long to find yourself in his lap while he lounged in the chair he had been seated in prior. The position made your stomach flip slightly, but it also warmed your bones in a way that the fireplace couldn’t dream of doing. 

Your back was nestled against one of the arm rests while your legs hung over the other one, and, almost experimentally, you brought his right hand to rest upon your belly (perhaps a bit instinctively to ensure that he was there), and then his left in front of you. You were rather surprised to find that he was pretty lax when it came to you manhandling him. 

“I hope it fits…” You muttered to yourself as you dug into your dress pocket, being forced to raise your hips slightly to accommodate the position before finally, _finally,_ you felt the familiar texture of the box. Taking a heavy breath (you were nervous, alright?), you popped it open and, taking the ring out, slid it onto his fourth finger. It slid on perfectly - almost _too_ perfectly.

Praise be.

“Is…” You leaned your head back to peer up at him in an almost goofy manner, although your expression remained uncertain. “Is it okay? It’s your engagement ring. Um.” 

You bit your lip and rolled it between your teeth. “I don’t really know how to present it to you, but uh, if you look here - you can’t really see it, it’s dark in here - it’s actually made from white-tail antlers and live oak. Custom made from a family friend. If you don’t like anything about it, I can get it changed-”

As if suddenly coming to the realization that you were rambling, you fell into silence. 

Alastor, whose hand had been languidly rubbing the delicate curve of your lower belly (chest undeniably swelling with raging paternal pride), froze as soon as the weight of the ring settled on his finger. 

He heard you speak, although you sounded as though far away, the blood rushing in his ears suddenly deafening. Some unknown emotion, stark and acidic, settled in his chest and the man suddenly felt as though his throat had locked.

“Is it okay?” Alastor parroted your words back to you as if to cover his inability to speak his own in face of the emotional hurricane whorling behind his sternum. 

The ring sat perfectly on his fourth finger, the fine craftsmanship was evident in the working of the band and the materials - two things you had chosen specifically for _him_ \- and just like that the newfound warmth was back, slowly edging back the blind surprise of the moment and easing the tension in his chest. 

Alastor rotated his hand, watching as the firelight played off the polished surface of the piece before he pulled back his left arm and, with minor awkwardness, managed to shift so he could wrap his arm around your shoulders and immediately bring you closer. 

His right hand left your tummy to instead cup the curve of your neck, his thumb pressing just slightly to the pulse point of your jaw. He manhandled you lightly into position, all so he could better tip his head down to gift you a surprisingly sweet kiss. 

Alastor’s mouth slotted to fit the space of yours - the feeling even more perfect than the fit of the ring - and this time his bottom lip came to cradle yours. You felt his tongue press quickly to the seam of your mouth and, when you opened your lips to accept him (the flicker of desire that had previously gone undetected now beginning to fester), his movement was sure and confident but rather unhurried.

When the need for air raised its pesky head to butt in, Alastor broke away from you hesitantly, his lips ghosting against your mouth softly as though he didn’t truly want to move away. His nose traced the length of yours, the hand at your jaw moving to cup your cheek so he could squish your face more to his as you felt him grin against your skin. 

Alastor crooned your name and pressed another kiss to your mouth, and although this one was much more chaste than the one before, it was still loaded with unspoken emotion. 

“Darling, forgive me,” he murmured to you, his voice low and rawly earnest. “I-I have nothing to give you back yet…”

But it appeared as though you had already been expecting such a thing, for you couldn’t will yourself to resurface that irritation for before, instead your eyes becoming hooded as you leaned forward to press your lips to the seam of his lips. 

Perhaps as the weeks passed, your mood swings (no doubt influenced by him) would become easier to control, but with the severe inexperience, everything was up in the air when it came to your emotions. 

But for now, since you had at least started to make amends (you could surely forgive him, you had assured him you had, but you couldn’t actually mentally move past it that fast. It was something that you would continue to think about for a hot minute), you could finally relax in his arms and return to that sense of security you had once found yourself in a few weeks prior. 

Leaning back just enough, you managed to squash your nose against his, so much so that you were actually forced to breathe out of your mouth and when you spoke, it was a bit nasally. “You being here....” Despite the funny way you said it, your meaning was true. You rested your cheek against his after a moment so that you were finally able to breathe like a normal human being. “... Is enough.” And it always would be.

Whether he would learn to accept it or not.

Alastor hummed, nose trailing along your cheek until he met the juncture of your earlobe; he nuzzled against it sweetly, the action tickling you just enough that your neck bent at an odd angle in reaction to the sensation. 

Always an opportunist, Alastor's face quickly found the safe space of your neck, even if it meant he was forced to contort his lanky form a bit awkwardly and take more of your weight in his arms. 

_Three and a half weeks._

Nearly four long weeks of loneliness and overthinking and agonizing over whether you would even want him still - Alastor moulded his lips to the soft patch of skin just below your jaw, lingering there for a beat before moving to press his face (glasses smooshed askew) to your neck again. 

He murmured something then, his hair tickling slightly as he shifted. You lifted the hand that wasn't trapped between your side and the human beanpole next to you to instead brush back his hair gently. Just as much as an opportunist as Alastor, you let yourself have a moment to run your fingers through his hair, letting your nails scratch just enough so that he sagged lightly into you as he began to relax under your attention. 

The Loa were good to him, and for that Alastor was eternally grateful; for what else but their accepted blessing from his earlier ritual had brought you so willingly back to his arms?

You took a page out of his book and hummed back to him, the sound lifting slightly in question as you hoped to prompt him to answer again. Your nails now traced patterns on his scalp, basking in the fact that he had, at the very least, seemed to have been as miserable and lonesome as you were all those long weeks. 

**_Good_ **.

Alastor managed to peel himself away from you, his dark eyes glinting behind his lopsided glasses. You reached out to adjust them without thinking (and he let you, without thought to stop it), pushing them gently back up his nose before letting your thumb trail back down again and over his lips, your hand falling to grasp his shirt collar. 

"I'm not going anywhere, sweetheart." There was a cocky slant to his grin that made little butterflies burst in your stomach. 

Alastor caught up your hand that had gone to his shirt, bringing it to his mouth so he could gently trail his lips over your knuckles and then to the soft skin of your palm.

"They'll have to send the hounds of Hell to try." 

So yeah, your heart was going apeshit. 

You had never thought you would find yourself in the arms of a man, despite what your father wanted for you.

You could hear it now, even though he had never verbally expressed it - his words unpleasant to you, a girl who didn’t find race a deciding factor in ‘good breeding’, how shallow were those that did - that he wanted a white man, a doctor _,_ lawyer, or some sort of soldier that you would kiss off to war while holding a bundle of joy in your arms and a dozen other toddlers and children of various ages to further your lineage. 

You weren’t a dog, which honestly, you thought society thought you were from how much they prattled on and on about that stuff, but you could certainly be a bitch when the time called for it.

But perhaps you were a hypocrite yourself in some ways, for as much as you wanted to deny the fact that you were desperately head over heels for this man that sat beneath you, you couldn’t; and here you were, worrying over a ring, being affected by a mass amount of hormones that you had never felt 

your menstruation was average at best, but you had never suffered the cramping that would have had you withering away slowly and praying for death and for that you were thankful, and now you were of course currently flaunting around the idea of cooking and cleaning for _him._

Maybe your body had just been waiting for you to get knocked up to shit on you with the hormones, because good golly.

It was in that moment that you felt something go off in your mind - perhaps a lightbulb, perhaps something else - but it felt _weird._ Because out of your twenty-three years, you had never thought to be anything other than yourself, and here you were… fawning over him like some love struck teen. 

No wonder his receptionist thought you were a fan. 

You bit your lip, rolled it between your teeth, before coming to the conclusion that your conscience was very much intact and you would probably have to go apologize to her. 

Anyways, it was all because of him. You had once been so perplexed not so long ago by how smiley the wives that had been with their husbands for decades still see themselves as doing such a thing until the day they died, and perhaps yes, you were introverted and maybe lived under a rock, but _now._

Well, now you were beginning to understand the true reasoning.

Love.

Adoration.

More than infatuation.

Sitting up (although you had to push into him to achieve such a thing from the awkward position), you maneuvered yourself to swing your legs from where they dangled and to shift them so that they nestled beneath you, between his thighs, and the arm rest. 

The silken fabric of his shirt greeted your touch eagerly when you leaned into him, your hands daintily grasping his shoulders to keep you balanced (despite the snug position you found yourself in) as you trailed your lips from his forehead - yes, you had to reach up slightly - and then down the bridge to hover over his lips.

You tossed him a pointed look, albeit it was playful. “Even Cerberus?” 

Alastor’s hands came to rest on your hips; you caught the flash of his ring as he moved, warmth blooming in your chest that burned more so than the fire at your back. His hand greedily fisted the material of your shift dress so that it bunched slightly at your hips, bringing the smooth, soft skin of your thighs into view. 

Alastor sat back more as if to take in all of your face again before dragging his eyes down over your form in a way that made a blush immediately color your cheeks. Although this shift in position meant he did lament the loss of your skin against his, Alastor quickly made up for it by gripping your hips a bit tighter and pulling you forward in a way that had them slanted slightly to his. 

It was then he felt the first twinges of desire sparking in his core - from this angle, the small but sweet curve to your petite bump was more pronounced and it did anything but hurt his male ego; although the nagging reminder that his mother was around the house and more than likely eavesdropping did dampen it slightly. 

"Well now, you'd make a grand Persephone, my dear,” he cooed to you, unable to help himself regardless of nosy mothers. "Although I'm afraid I won't be returning you every six months. This -" Alastor’s grin widened as he held up and wiggled the finger adorned by your ring. "-is binding." 

His hand returned to your hip then, relishing in giving your softness another squeeze. 

“No pomegranates will do,” you leaned closer in the following moment to run your hands down his chest; even under the fabric you could feel the slightly raised scarring - new and old - upon his flesh, the warmth that he radiated, the sensation of him simply holding you was enough for you to fall deeper into the point of no return. Truth was, you missed him - it hurt to be away, and it was even more uncomfortable to come to the realization that you were becoming dependent on him. 

But maybe that was okay. 

Maybe… it wasn’t so bad.

Blinking in the dim lighting, you leaned forward to nuzzle your cheek into his own, your hair undoubtedly becoming a pest of sorts, so much so that you tilted your head, brushed your hair over your shoulder, and began to pepper his jaw with feather-light kisses. “At least, not unless my cravings tell me that they want pomegranates. I don’t even think I’ve _had_ pomegranates before.” Wow, way to ruin the mood. 

“But,” you whispered, leaning back to press your nose into the space of his own. “That’s okay, because… I’m pretty confident that you taste much sweeter, _Hades.”_ Your voice was soft then, a coo, although there remained an underlying meaning within its depths; to which you only pressed your lips to his gingerly, a chaste thing, before pulling away to ghost them over his with each word:

“I missed you, Al…”

Alastor made a similar soft sound just as he had before, his eyes fluttering shut as you peppered his face with your sweet kisses. 

Something about verbally hearing confirmation that you had missed him; the strange new warmth was back, this time it seemed to radiate from the center of his chest out along his long limbs, fingertips buzzing as he ran his palms up along your sides. 

His hands continued their path upwards, Alastor's touch decidedly gentle in spite of the urgency that coloured his actions; warm, calloused hands skimmed against your clavicle, before they moved to cup behind each ear. 

Now able to tilt your face even closer, Alastor's lips met yours, his kiss much firmer than your teasing ones had just been. 

"Missed you…" the man echoed as his mouth brushed yours, his voice muffled since he refused to completely detach from you as he murmured: "Stay wit' me, _cher_ , please." 

The word _forever_ was implied (or so Alastor hoped) in the firm press of his mouth against yours again. 

You leaned forward to press yourself completely against him, a rampage of chills running up and down your spine, littering you with goosebumps. Your stomach clenched in the want to have him close, to keep him close, forever and a day. With your anger and disappointment long forgotten, and your longing to just be with him growing more and more paramount, you found yourself less inclined to move away from him. 

Each breath you took, you inhaled his scent; it lured you into that false sense of security you had come to adore, and you found it that much harder to _think._ So instead, you acted. Your lips met his again after you had leaned away to take a breath, a tender sweetness that could only be found between two lovers, just as your hands traveled up to pry his hands off of you and, at the last moment, interlace into the space of his fingers. 

His lips had once been chapped and uncared for, or rather perhaps that was because of the colder weather (albeit, the South never did get _cold),_ but now they were warm and soft and you felt the desire to just sink into his body and never want to return to the world of living. But, as much as you wanted to…

“I’m not going anywhere,” you reassured, running your nose along the side of his. “Not tonight, at least.” Your breath was slightly heavy from his affections, before you brought both of your hands down to lead his own beneath your dress so that, at last, he could feel your skin - a reminder that you were very much there and _alive._ “But when we’re married, Mr. Beauchamp?” You pressed your lips to his again.

_When you were married, you would never leave again._

Alastor’s hands slid up the soft, warm skin of your thighs, fingers squeezing and relishing the feel of you against him. You felt his lips curve slightly against yours, and you knew he was no doubt wearing his infamous grin, just as his hands reached the swell of your hips. 

Your dress had shifted just enough to give him a glimpse of the plain cotton hiding your core from his view as he pulled back to give you a meaningful look; however, at the moment his focus was elsewhere on your body. Alastor’s left hand rather lazily left the curve of your hip to reach the gentle swell of your bump, his thumb rubbing soothing little circles in the patch of skin just below your belly button. 

The flare of warmth was churning into something much headier in his belly as his eyes trailed over the evidence of _his_ child growing inside you. 

You had always been a pretty little thing, and while the man had secretly _thrilled_ at being able to parade around with a young (white) woman attached to his arm while busybodies and bluenosers alike turned scandalized eyes on the pair of you, it was **_this_ ** image of you that made the nearly inebriating sense of _need_ and _want_ mix intoxicatingly inside him. 

“When we’re married, _Mrs. Beauchamp_ …” The way he purred your soon-to-be shared name made a pleasant burst of butterflies take flight in your belly as Alastor locked his dark eyes on you. “You’ll be in my arms every night, right where you belong.”

The man leaned forward again then, both of his hands coming to move away from their respective resting places to follow up the length of the back of your arms; once Alastor’s hands reached your shoulders, he curled his arms down and around so he could shift you even closer. The new shift brought your body flush with his again, your hips pressed back slightly in his lap and undoubted resting up against the first sign of his growing arousal. 

Alastor moved to press his face to the juncture of your neck, nose brushing against your jugular vein before he trailed the tip of it down so he could nuzzle into the soft cushion of the valley of your breasts. You felt him press a chaste kiss to the small hint of skin that was visible just above the cut of the collar of your clothing before nuzzling back into the safe space of your chest. 

It would be a fib if you claimed that you hadn’t longed to feel him inside of you throughout those lonely nights, despite the anger that had simmered inside of you. To feel his comfort, his affections, his unspoken love was certainly something else that you couldn’t quite understand the desperate need to experience, again and again until your last dying breath. 

However, a nearly overwhelming sense of bashfulness overcame you when you did indeed feel his erection against you - despite having had intercourse with him a handful of times before, there was something about being away from him for a long time that made you forget everything that you had ever learned alongside him. You had barely even realized that you had begun to shake when his face had met your neck. 

But when you did, you brought your hands up to his shoulders and attempted to wrap your arms around them, head leaning on your left arm. 

“Please don’t touch my neck…” You whispered - and it was slowly becoming apparent to you that the memory of him doing such an act wouldn’t leave so easily. But perhaps just to ease his mind a little bit, you managed to press your hips forward and rub against him to the best of your ability. You would always want him.

Come hell or high water.

Alastor jerked back at your words as though you had burned him with the hot poker from the fireplace that roared away behind the two of you still. Your arms tightened subconsciously around his broad shoulders, equal parts to stabilize yourself after the sudden shift in his stance and perhaps a little to do with the spike of anxiety that had settled in your muscles. 

His pupils, which had begun to expand as his desire for you climbed, suddenly constricted and his nostrils quivered. His hands, which had started to trail around your sides and had been inching towards the buttons on the front of your dress dropped limply to his sides; although he felt you move against him, the warmth and weight of you in his lap, not to mention the soft roll of your hips, made it so he only softened slightly. 

He eyed you wearily, “Darling…” 

The man gingerly laid his palms back on the top of your thighs, giving you a gentle squeeze as though to cover some of his visceral reaction. That all too familiar and well-detested feeling of shame was starting to curdle in his stomach again; once again, he had pushed past your boundaries simply because he had been seeking comfort and reassurance in the willingness of your body - 

Alastor breathed harshly through his nose. He wasn’t the most patient man at the best of times, but if the time apart from each other had taught him anything, it was that he didn’t want to continue on _without_ you, and if that meant compromises, then so be it. The alternative was much worse than a bit of a blow to his ego. 

“Are you sure you want this, sweetheart?” Alastor’s voice was gentle and quiet; he murmured to you as if you were something delicate and easily breakable. 

Which, he supposed you _were_ , technically, especially when compared to the brute strength he possessed; Alastor wanted nothing more than to crush your form to his and coo and croon reminders of his contriteness and regret - but a part of him worried suddenly that you might be still too raw to necessarily welcome such affection. 

There was a sense of relief when you felt him move away a bit, but just as such came the overwhelming need to make sure he _didn’t._ It was all up to you, and while you wanted to move past that event, it still gave you a dose of anxiety to think of his hands around your neck, that memory of him peering down at you as if you were nothing more than flesh to consume. 

“I-I don’t know…” You stammered before you pressed your face into _his_ neck, the warmth that he radiated easing your rapidly melting brain over the fears that were beginning to plague your mind. When you opened your mouth, your lips brushed against his flesh, before you lifted your head slightly to press your mouth to his ear lobe and then peppering down his jaw again. 

“I want you,” you whispered through your kisses. “But… but I’m scared.” 

It wasn’t easy to tell him that. 

Alastor remained where he was, allowing you the space you seemed to need despite the fact that his hands still rested on your legs and you remained seated in his lap. Part of him greatly wanted to simply wrap you up, cocoon you in some warm blanket and shelter you away until your body had calmed; however, given that it was _him_ you admitted to being frightened by - 

A rather ugly, dark feeling was beginning to fester in his belly, the emotion corrosive enough that it seemed to overtake the warmth that had blossomed at your return. Instead, the empty, anxious feeling that had plagued Alastor for the last few weeks was back and bubbling up his throat until his jaw felt locked in light of your honesty. 

If the man was being honest, he wasn’t all that sure how best to support you and move forward; after all, when he usually went so far with another, they came away much less lucky than you had. New Orleans was scattered with their remains as a testament to his (so-far) fail-safe techniques, and now as you sat with him, your body tense and shaking still, Alastor’s usually brilliant mind drew a blank. 

He sighed your name, just as he caught the undeniable bubbling of some inky shadow beginning to unfurl in the far corner; supported by the flickering light of the fireplace, the logs still popping and crackling away merrily in spite of the change in atmosphere in the room, Alastor thought it might have been drawn out by the feeling of emotional turmoil and uncertainty in the air (loathe as he was to admit it, he had a feeling the Loa were growing just as fond of you as he was)

He made a low sound in his throat, as though he tried to clear it, and made a mental note to keep a closer eye on the spirits that often simply roamed around the space. The Loa were notoriously self-serving, perhaps even more than the man himself was, and while undoubtedly the veil between the two halves of his life were quickly melding together, Alastor knew he meant to keep you separate for as long as he could. 

Tearing his eyes away from the corner (two eyes had appeared and were gazing accusingly back at him) Alastor oh-so-gently reached out so that his pointer finger came to rest just beneath your chin. He tilted your head back and up just enough so that he could meet your eyes, noting the worry and disheartened look in them. 

"Darling, whatever it is you need from me, I'll see to it." Alastor took a slight risk and pressed the tip of his nose to yours. He hoped dearly the familiar action would soothe rather than startle you, and he was pleased when you didn't shy away. "I can't undo what is done, but perhaps I can try to help…" 

You swallowed thickly but managed to bite down your anxieties (for the moment at least) when you felt the pressure of his nose against yours - it was difficult to not smile when he did cute things like that, whereas you willed your body to _calm_ , goosebumps still crawled across your flesh as you breathed in a soft breath. “I’m sorry,” you choked out at last. 

“I didn’t mean to say what I said, I don’t like fighting, I don’t want to fight. I didn’t want to scare you away for those weeks, because it’s my fault. I shouldn’t have told you to…” 

It was in that moment that you realized that you weren’t scared of _him -_ you were scared of _losing_ him. “I-I’m scared I’ll say something and then you’ll leave again and then I’ll be alone.” You tearfully looked up at him, unable to stop the beginnings of tears spilling from your eyes. Perhaps it could have been your wacky hormones, but you couldn’t blame it on it forever. You felt guilty, uncertain, _wary_ of your own actions.

You pressed your nose to his a bit more, perhaps just to comfort you. “I don’t want you to leave, A-Al… I-I want you to l-” 

_Love me._

You cut yourself off, knowing full well that his reaction to that was not something you wanted to see. The stillness, the clenching of his jaw - all quirks that you hadn’t realized you had picked up on subconsciously. 

_Is that too much to ask?_

The silence that followed your near slip up was almost deafening, nothing but the soft sounds from the fireplace filling the air around the two of you. As if from some far off place, you vaguely became aware of the ticking of the clock and you couldn’t help but wonder just how long the two of you had been tucked away in the living room - 

Alastor finally shifted in his spot, which meant that you shifted along with him. Your hands instinctively went to his shoulders to help steady yourself (your bump didn’t yet contribute to the loss of balance, but you were sure that was coming soon enough) and you tried desperately to find the same comfort in the real feel of him beneath you, just as he had earlier. 

The man in question was staring at you, mouth pressed slightly into a firm line; ever constant in his undertakings, Alastor could easily see that despite your body pressed too tightly to his own, you were obviously still struggling with the leftover emotional heavy work from what had previously occurred. 

Not to mention, his work in radio (not to mention stalking about in the swamps) had trained his ears to be perhaps a little more keen than the average man - he had clearly caught the word that had nearly dropped from your lips before you had silenced yourself. 

Guilt bloomed in his chest again, bringing back with it the alarmingly uneasy feeling that had been hovering over him since your fight. Your feelings for him had never necessarily been something secret, and it was something that he had admittedly used against you in the past. Now, however, as you sat on his lap, your smaller frame pressed so desperately to his, the man couldn’t deny the white-hot _shame_ boiling in his gut. 

He cooed your name to you then, hoping to raise your eyes to his again. When you blatantly looked _anywhere_ at him, Alastor couldn’t help but roll his own eyes slightly before he moved his pointer back to your chin and, with about as much pressure as he dared to, urged your face to turn back to him. 

“Darling,” Alastor sighed once again, and this time the flickering light in the room seemed to highlight the dark circles under his eyes you hadn’t quite noticed before - perhaps this _had been hard_ for the both of you. 

There was a slight pause, the man clearly struggling to put into terms whatever was going on in his head (something you would’ve marvelled at, had you not been so wrapped up in your own inner turmoil), and then on his next exhale, Alastor seemed to deflate a little bit; his tongue moved to wet his bottom lip, teeth coming to work the skin there. 

“I’m afraid this is more of a learning curve than even I expected it to be, sweetheart,” he murmured to you then, his dark eyes trailing over the lines of your face. Some sharp note of panic was beginning to fester in his chest, your own concerns now beginning to echo in his head - _was this just some ploy to separate yourself from him?_ \- and perhaps against his own better judgement in the moment, Alastor moved his hands back to your thighs, fingers spread wide. 

At the fleeting touch of his fingers, some sort of force overtook you and you, in your own anxieties, moved to lean up and, without warning, crush your lips to his. 

It happened so fast that you were pretty sure - _it had to be -_ it was your subconscious longing to be in his arms again, in whatever way that may have been. Your mind was too slow to play catch up, so when you realized what was going on, you reeled back with wide eyes; as if you were no more than a deer in headlights. 

“I-” You brought your index finger to your bottom lip. _What the fuck was that?_ It felt as if something had pushed you into him, but when you looked down, fully expecting to feel his hand rooted in your hair (for what was a girl supposed to think?), you saw both of his hands. “What…” 

“Draft…” the man muttered, not at all convincingly. 

“A draft.” You repeated. “I was pushed into you. D-did you do that?” You looked over to the window. “It’s not even _open._ ”

Alastor blinked owlishly at you, some of your own reflection caught in the surface of his glasses, and he tried his best to school his features into the same look of confusion as your own. He gave a rather noncommittal shrug, eyes darting to the closed window and then back to you, a suspicious curve to his lips. 

“The house is old, darling,” his voice was soft, despite the underlying seriousness of the moment. “Drafts come and go…” 

Perhaps with exhaustion prevalent in your mental state, you offered him a lop-sided smile and went so far as to ruffle his hair, all the while blowing a raspberry at him. You lowered your hand and rubbed the remaining tears out of your eyes. 

His smile was contagious, okay? 

“You know what else is going to be old?” You couldn’t help your sniffling sass, masked by your emotions. “ _Me._ You’re going to make me age a lot quicker.” But, at the very least, you had already begun to come to terms that he wouldn’t say those three words for… well, you weren’t entirely sure. 

Knowing him, he would probably end up saying it at a moment where you _didn’t_ want him to say it. 

You felt Alastor relax a bit under you, the tension he had unconsciously been holding in his muscles _finally_ beginning to ease as your cheeky personality started to peek through the heavy emotions of the evening. 

Unable to help himself, he stuck his tongue back out at you, his infamous grin quickly coming to split his face and make his eyes crinkle in a way that made your belly feel slightly warm. His hands hadn’t quite left the comfort of your legs and while your attention had been elsewhere, Alastor had (rather greedily) shifted them back to sit at your hips. 

“You’re still staying…” his sentence trailed off as he turned his dark eyes on you, unable to hide the uncertainty that lingered in them. 

It was your turn to blink owlishly at him. _God, was he somethin’ else._ “What?” You couldn’t help the soft laugh that fell from your lips, eyebrows knitting together in confusion.

Behind you, the fire gave a great shudder, the light dimming drastically and briefly casting the two of you in near darkness. Within seconds, the flame had returned just as brightly as it had been before - and while you were _certain_ there was no breeze to be accounted for, Alastor looked irritatingly calm given the strange occurrence. 

“You’ll be staying?” Alastor couldn’t help the small, hopeful curve of his grin then, as he blinked up at you (he was doing his best to ignore the looming, undulating mass that was growing from behind the couch). “Or - that is to say, darling - if you prefer, I can simply walk you home. You shouldn't go out this late alone either way…” 

There was a strange glint to his eyes as he stared up at you, “The night is dark and full of terrors, after all.” 

“Yeah, it’s you. You’re the terror.” You refused to let him scare you again, but you did find his choice of words a bit strange. “But…” You let your eyes soften as you dipped your head to his, rubbing your nose against his. “What I find strange is that you haven’t asked to see the bump yet,” you whispered. 

“Even after I promised that I wasn’t going anywhere earlier, silly.” The coo that slipped out was unintended, but god damn it, you were feeling all sorts of different ways. 

You felt his breath wash over your lower face as Alastor sighed, this time the sound was twinged with his amusement and you felt the tightness in your chest ease a little more in response. _Damn this man…_

“I thought it would be best if I waited to see if you were going to break my glasses again,” he murmured, unable to help himself from brushing his lips against yours. 

“Not outta the question, Beauchamp.” You grinned against his lips, a soft laugh spilling from you as your teeth knocked against his. 

Alastor hummed, his grin tugging to one corner so that he was able to hit you with the full force of his all too charming smirk, “As long as I get a kiss better, _Mrs. Beauchamp_.” 

You giggled, your body shaking in your quiet laughter before you brought your hands to trail just beneath his jaw. “Cash or check?” You weren’t the best flirt, but you were learning - the modern slang helped a lot. 

Choosing to continue to push his luck (did he ever act differently?), Alastor ran his hands from your hips up along the smooth planes of your back, and then back down until one came to rest at the small of your back. The other, rather openly, moved to thread gently into the few strands of your hair that lay over your back still. 

“I’m a rather greedy man,” Alastor crooned to you, his chin tilted towards yours as though hoping to prompt you to answer for yourself. “Suffice to say, darling, perhaps we should take such a pressing matter somewhere more private and away from possible prying eyes.”

Some part of him meant his mother, of course, although there were notable _more_ pairs of eyes now staring at him from the shadows of the room, as if they were worried he might continue on his usual path of destruction if left to his own devices. 

“Okay.” You whispered against him, before practically going limp in his grasp, just as he repositioned you to carry you bridal-style towards the room.

What a day - you gave in to the note of exhaustion that had settled in your bones (although you thought it might be _emotional_ exhaustion), and nestled your head into his chest as the pair of you left the room. 

If the lingering shadows stretched to follow you, you didn't notice, too wrapped up in the feeling of being… 

_H̷̡̜͈͊͋̑̌́ó̶̜̟̩̟͔̻͍̗̿͂͋̊̓̾̆m̷̛̥̮͇̠̫͆͌͗̏͒͝ḙ̷͕̤̂̊̋͆́̈̆̔͜._

  
  



	17. Idk Man, It’s Kinda Sus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> wow okay, welcome back! Thank you for having faith in us as we try to get ourselves back on track. <3
> 
> Warnings: explicit sexual content, paranormal encounters, nightmares, gruesome descriptions.

It was only once the door to his bedroom had clicked shut with a push of his heel did Alastor feel the remaining dregs of his originally overwhelming anxiety begin to melt away. You were, of course, still nestled tightly to his chest and although some part of him despised to do so, he gently placed you on his bed, tucking you back against his headboard before he folded his long legs under him and sat next to you. 

While he had undeniably missed your ability to verbally keep up with him (not to mention the sweet little kisses you peppered his face with when his flirting worked), now that you both had reached the safety of his room, he was admittedly feeling unsure of how to proceed again.

In truth, he wanted nothing more than to simply reach out and move your clothing so he could see you (all of you) after such a long time apart - and, perhaps even moreso, lavish a little attention on the small swell of your tummy he knew was tucked away. 

Although he had touched and felt the firmness under your skin, it wasn’t quite the same as being able to _look_ at you and your changing form. 

You sat up when you were allotted the ability to and, perhaps undoing his entire desire of having you on the bed, you hopped off and walked over to his side, standing just before him. Without a word said, you motioned towards the area that you desired to see him at, just so that he could dangle his ridiculously long legs over it and you could stand between them. 

But then came the realization that once you were between his legs, you weren’t really sure what to do next. 

“I don’t really know how to position myself.” You admitted after a second.“I thought standing up would make me taller but...” 

_Nope_. 

“You’re taller still.” You huffed in defeat, slouching slightly.

Alastor only stared at you - perhaps just as lost in the moment - before he offered his hands, palms up. When your hands, albeit hesitantly, connected with his, he laced his fingers with yours and minutely tugged you in his direction a little more so he could nestle you between his legs. 

“Well then, let’s hope the little one takes after me, then.” A wink was presented on a fine silver platter. 

“They’re already a pain in the ass, so they do.” You snarked. 

Unable to contain himself, the man in question let out a sharp bark of laughter - he had dearly missed your sharp tongue, and while the adoration of others naturally fed the man’s outstanding ego, knowing you were around to knock him down a few pegs only seemed to fuel his desire for you that much more. 

“You wound me, darling,” he simpered to you, a grin spreading over his face even after he had calmed himself down. “I’ll take that kiss now…” He even had the audacity to tip his head up towards you. 

Unable to say no (how could you when he looked at you like _that?_ ), you leaned forward and settled your nose in the space between his, your eyes fluttering closed as you gently pressed your lips to his own. It was a chaste thing, a playful one, because let’s face it, you had just as much audacity as he did. 

“Alright, daddy.” You murmured against his lips. “I’ll give you another if you say hello…” You just really wanted him to see the bump, okay? You had some weird pride over it. 

Alastor moved then and, catching you slightly off guard, dropped to his knees in front of you with a _thump_ that made you wince; although, given the height difference it meant his face became level with the area just below your sternum. 

You watched in amusement and some forlorn emotion as he reached out to grab for the material of your dress before he seemingly caught himself and, with a quick look to see if you were going to change your mind _yet again_ , left them hesitating in mid-air.

“It’s okay.” You whispered.

That was all the man needed to hear, for the next moment his hands were back on you, this time smoothing their way up your calves and upper legs until he could begin to bunch the fabric of your dress up. A part of him thought to linger on the sight of your still clothed core, but with a mental note to (hopefully) return, Alastor continued on until your shift-dress settled just above the gentle curve of your hips.

One large hand came immediately to brush softly against the skin that rested just below your belly button, the hunter in him unable to stop from noting the curious way your taut muscles had shifted in order to accommodate the growing life inside of you. 

Where before you had been painfully thin (and while you were far from being anywhere near _plump_ , Alastor was pleased to note there was a little more to you than just skin and bones), there was, quite clearly, a distinct rounded curve to the lower portion of your midsection. 

_Quite a sight, indeed._

Without thinking, Alastor shifted so that his lips could brush along your skin, following the same path his hand had just been on. He gave a rather strange shudder against you, before leaning a little more of his weight forward so that he could squash his nose to the space. He murmured something to you then, his nose tracing some odd shape against your skin. 

“Huh?” You huffed, bringing your hand to his hair so you could lace your fingertips in his wavy mop; with a gentle tug, you brought his eyes up to look at you.

“You’re bigger than I thought…” The man trailed off as, perhaps, his ill-chosen words sunk in. 

_Oh, because he did have a mouth on him._

“I know.” You sighed. “That’s what I thought, too. I’m not around a lot of pregnant ladies, though, so I dunno.” You shrugged softly before continuing to trail your fingers soothingly into his tresses. “I’m… I’m gonna get big, huh?” Perhaps he had been around more than you had. It was hard to imagine just how big, though. 

Alastor hummed thoughtfully, bringing his eyes back to your bump, his hand once again coming to rub soothing patterns. 

“I suppose you’re far enough along now, Mags will take a look…” he sounded as if he were talking more to himself now than to you. “I’m sure she’ll ask Amelié along as well, just to make sure.” 

“Make sure?” You didn’t really question about ‘Amelié’ because unlike some people (who were you kidding, you were jealous all the time), you weren’t jealous. “Nevermind, we can talk about it later, not important right now, my love.” 

“No,” Alastor murmured, his eyes darting to find yours again - although some part of him wondered if the warmth now blooming once again in his chest had anything to do with that particular term of endearment (he would ponder that later, perhaps, when he was elbow deep in some poor joe’s guts - he did all his best thinking during his sprees). 

“No, not important.”

As though unable to help himself yet again, Alastor pressed another kiss to your tummy, this time his nose trailing up to brush against the sensitive spot just by your belly button. 

The muscle that lay just below your skin there quivered, some deep anticipation making itself known in the tightening of your core and the tell-tale fluttering of your inner muscles betraying the line of thought your brain was quickly tumbling down. 

“Al…” You murmured down to him, and, as if some sort of switch had been flicked at the sight of him kissing that sensitive spot, cradling your belly, you felt a flare of desire that made you lean forward in hopes to capture his attention. “Can… Can I ask you for something?” Your hand rooted in his hair softly, while the other gently began to stroke his cheek.

“Anything, sweetheart.” The man cooed to you, his nose still nuzzled to you. “Just look at what you’ve given me…” his eyes flicked to meet yours. 

You whined out some sort of strange sound, your breath catching in your throat at those words. “I know you can’t say it yet.” You whispered, and for a second your heart clenched tightly in your chest. “But… when you make love to me, can you lie?” Your voice cracked slightly as you gave him a lopsided, sad smile. 

Alastor blinked up at you, this time moving back just enough that his face properly broke contact with you. You lamented the loss slightly, before worry started to gnaw in your belly at his silence. 

His voice had caught in his throat as your words had washed over him; it seemed so long ago, but he _had_ lied to you once before, words of adoration and of _love_ that he had crooned to you the night he had shown up bloodied and near crazed at your door.

Now, as he knelt in front of you in his bedroom, your body beginning to round from _his_ child growing inside you, he wondered if it was possible (or that simple) to do so again. 

The soothing warmth that had blossomed in his sternum was now touched with a cool edge of _wrongdoing_ , as though he couldn’t quite bring himself to openly speak the words you obviously so needed to hear. 

_But why…_ some small voice in his mind broke through the haze. _Why is it suddenly difficult?_

But in the moments that passed, you found yourself slowly diminishing in hope that _perhaps_ he would lie but then have it not be a lie, some naive desire to cocoon you in a safety web of deceit. 

“ _Please.”_ You hated how useless you felt, how little control you had over your own emotions. It was irritating, embarrassing, it made you feel _weak_ \- more than society already made you feel - and yet here you were, practically begging a man to say something that he didn’t even mean. “I know you don’t mean it, a-and that’s okay.”

There was a beat, the pause nearly tangible as it was left hanging in the space between the two of you.

Alastor crooned your name, his arms pulling you a bit closer so he could press himself to your form; if anything, he was growing to detest the sight of anguish on your face, particularly if he was the cause. He hesitated then, caught between giving you what you clearly so needed (even if he couldn’t quite understand that need) and trying to decipher your sometimes (read: **often** ) confusing changes of heart. 

“Sweetheart,” he huffed, unable to completely hide the slight note of baffled amusement that tinted his words. “You just accused me of _acting_ and now-” 

Alastor trailed off, eyeing you closely as you continued to shake a bit in his arms; your face was beginning to grow a bit blotched with redness, tears slowly starting to track down your cheeks, although you appeared either unfazed or unaware of the fact. 

Some sharp, bitter pain flared in his sternum, the reaction so physically acute that he jerked minutely in response. Stirred to his feet as though working through impulse, the man stood and gathered you in his arms, pulling your body flush to his and working one hand through the slightly mussed tresses of your hair. 

“You’ve given me so much,” he murmured softly to the hair of your crown, unable to help himself from pressing his cheek to the top of your head; Alastor felt the muscles in your back and shoulders, before so tense, begin to ease the longer he held you. “If this is what you need from me…”

The man pulled back just enough that he could meet your eyes, the latter still a bit wet and wide, doe-like, as you stared back at him, your heart stammering almost painfully in your chest as you came to the realization he was actually considering your request. 

You tried your best to give him what (you hoped) was an encouraging smile, despite the fact that your bottom lip still wobbled occasionally. 

“Yes.” You breathed, swallowing harshly as he continued to stare down at you. There was some look in his dark eyes, one you hadn’t quite seen before but still seemed heartachingly familiar, and it only made the swell of emotion in your chest threaten to spill forward again. 

Alastor hummed lowly, raising both his hands so they could cup your cheeks (he made sure not to brush your neck). The pads of his thumbs came to gently stroke the soft skin just under each eye, brushing away any lingering evidence of your previous emotional outburst. He followed the action by placing a gentle kiss on each eyelid, your lashes fluttering against his chin. 

_The world was a stage, after all, and what was he but the master performer?_

“Darling,” Alastor cooed, continuing to press butterfly-soft kisses to random spots on your face in between his words. “You silly creature, of course. You have my heart.”

You made the same odd, soft sound as you had before, leaning your cheek slightly into one of his palms; you hoped he would take the hint and continue. Even if there was a flicker of some ugly feeling deep in your belly at his words - _how easily he lied_ \- your heart stammered as he continued to croon to you. 

Alastor’s hands shifted from your face, one falling to your side and curling into the space below your ribs, the other landing on the curve of your bump, his thumb hooking lightly to your belly button as his fingers stroked against your skin. Goosebumps broke out in his wake, your body responding even if your mind struggled to keep up amidst the emotional undertone of the evening. 

His face dropped to your shoulder, nose pressing to the smooth skin stretched just over your shoulder joint. Some of his hair had fallen forward under his ministrations, and you felt it brush against you as Alastor peppered small kisses there. The hand at your side had moved closer to your chest, fingers lingering on the small, rounded buttons at the front of your shift-dress. 

“Lemme show you, _cher_ ,” Alastor whispered, breath washing over you warmly, bringing back that stirring of desire in your core. “Lemme show you how much I -” he sighed hotly then, his own form quivering slightly as he closed his eyes at the weight of his next words. “ -how much I love you, sweetheart.”

His mouth found yours quickly, perhaps scared of what your reaction might be, making sure to kiss you deeply and thoroughly so that when he pulled away, you were left breathless and slumped slightly against him as one of his arms came to wrap around your waist again.

You managed to nod, your lips ghosting against his with the action. 

Alastor sighed again, his nose trailing the length of yours, his body relaxing finally now that he could see you were accepting of his actions. The fingers of his other hand moved to quickly begin popping the buttons of your dress from their designated spots until he was able to reach the very last one. 

Your dress, guided by gravity and the help of his hand, slipped off your shoulders and pooled at your feet. You were left standing in your simple bralette and underwear, suddenly acutely aware of his eyes having full access to your changing body. 

And the man in front of you was anything but bashful about his open appreciation of your form; Alastor’s eyes trailed over you from head to toe, and then back again so he could meet your gaze. 

“You beautiful girl...” he muttered, moving back into the space he had vacated as to let your dress drop. Both of his hands ran over your hips and up your sides, fingers tracing over the pattern of your ribs under your skin. “You’re so good to me.”

Another kiss landed on the opposite shoulder this time, and you felt his left-hand shift just enough so that he could cup the soft curve of your breast. His thumb brushed your nipple through the cotton of your bralette, making it immediately pebble; you arched you back into the feeling, chasing more of the physical confirmation of his affection. 

Alastor bent his head, his mouth now coming to trail along the hemline of one of the cups, his large hand moving to press between your shoulder blade so that your body remained pressed into him (part of him thrilled at the feel of your small bump, even if he was still clothed, the _shape_ was undeniable).

When the only reaction you gave was to sigh contentedly and give in to the change of position, Alastor used his nimble fingers to open the clasps at your back, causing your underclothing to fall and bare your chest to his open gaze.

The man pressed a few more chaste kisses to the skin now on display, his palm smoothing the line of your spine as he rubbed up and down along its length. 

"Good girl," he cooed to you, moving so he could drop back to his knees and kneel in front of you. "Such a good girl, letting me love you…"

Alastor trailed off, letting his words hang in the air as his hands settled at the point of each hip bone. He pressed a kiss to your belly button and another to the bump (your heart fluttered wildly, so much you sure he could hear it even), before his fingers came to run along the inside of the seam of your underwear. 

His gaze flicked upwards then to meet your eye, soft lamp light glinting off the polished frames of his glasses; when he saw you had no signs of intending to stop him, Alastor pressed a hot, open mouthed kiss to your cotton-covered core. His fingers hooked under your waistband and, pressing kisses to each new inch of skin that came into view, pulled your underwear down so that it joined the dress at your feet. 

Starting at the back of your thighs, his hands moved back up, massaging gentle circles into your flesh. The rest of Alastor’s frame followed, until he was back on his feet and able to look down on you once more. 

"On the bed please, sweetheart." He purred to you, seemingly all too content to remain dressed as he was and focus on you.

But perhaps that was due to the fact that if he was undressed, the less control he would undoubtedly possess - even in such a matter where you felt the desire to feel him for who and what he was, but even more so to _hear_ how he truly felt—

But it wasn’t.

It was all a lie, some great fib that he concocted so easily in a web of lies. The most acidic of cocktails that you willingly got drunk off of, the sweetest nectar, he was the most infuriating, most disgusting creature you had ever come across, and yet here you were, asking him to say something that you previously didn’t want him to say if he hadn’t meant it. It was embarrassing - he probably thought you as equally infuriating.

But at the very least, even if he didn’t mean it verbally, he often showed you ways physically that made you confused yourself. He felt _something_ , you were certain, but _what?_

And there was the beginning of that headache. You knew it. It was only a matter of time before he gave you a headache - even if he didn’t physically do anything frustrating, the thought of him _was._

Ugh, you were just digging yourself a deeper grave no matter _what_ you said or did - no wonder he found you confusing. You found _yourself_ confusing, but alas, here you remained, your body pressed against his warmth and longing for just a _little bit more_. He was the type of drug that you were addicted to, the type that you never wanted to sober from.

_Wait, was he shaking?_

Your hands, which had never left his body in any way, shape, or form, clenched a bit on his dress shirt. 

“I’m sorry,” you sputtered after a second, before slowly moving to hop onto the bed. Still, your legs dangled off as you peered up to him with a rather heavy mix of some forlorn emotion of longing and desire. Despite the turmoil he regularly put you through, you were _in love_ with him - even if he couldn’t truthfully say the same; and with that came a lot of baggage. 

“I… It’s not fair for me to ask you to do that.” You leaned up to press your nose to the side of his, your eyes closing. “It’s not fair,” you repeated with a gentle sigh against his lips. But life wasn’t fair.

_You hated being so emotional._

“My love, please don’t shake.” 

In a movement completely opposite of what you had asked of him, Alastor gave a great shudder as he became aware of the quivering in his muscles. He hadn't noticed until you said so, but the tension in his form was clear. 

He swallowed harshly and awkwardly adjusted his glasses with a shaking hand before closing his eyes and bending a little more so he could press his forehead to yours. 

"Darling, I want to be what you need me to be.” Alastor admitted, his voice lame in defeat. "I just, I s'pose, I-I need more time." 

His moment of truth lent itself to a bitter realization inside and the man jerked slightly as if in pain. The thought had come to his mind but rather than working it over, it had fallen from his lips - it took everything in Alastor’s body to keep himself from pressing to the safety of your neck. 

He quickly moved to kiss you, as if desperately seeking to calm both his overworking emotions and the tumultuous waves of your own. His kiss was edged with a hunger that hadn't been there before and, as Alastor's bottom lip came to cradle your own, his tongue brazenly darted to try and taste you; when your lips parted, he greedily swept his tongue to chase yours. 

It was pathetically needy, but he couldn't quite bring himself to care. 

When you finally parted, Alastor kept his nose slotted to the space by your own, his glasses smooshed to your cheek as he pressed his face to you like some overgrown, demented cat. His hands came to the dip of your waist, clenching greedily. 

"I'm not goin' anywhere,” he drawled into your skin. "Jus' trust me when I say no other doll will ever take ya place." 

Perhaps you could have said something flirtatious in response, if you had been feeling yourself; but in this moment where there was some untold distress and longing to simply _be_ with the other, you couldn’t will yourself to do much more than close your eyes, let out a soft sigh - to which you willed your body to relax - and leaned your cheek closer to his face.

You could smell the smoke on his breath that showed how stressed he had become, the faint twinge of cedar and his regular cologne that you had come to miss, clinging to the fabric of his clothing. All different types of scents that you had stored away in your mind that all reminded you of _him,_ even if you were passing a store that just so happened to waft a scent of such a thing. He always smelled so good. 

“I missed you so much…” 

The words had been repeated from earlier, but remained as true as could be. 

“I missed your sweet talk, your tomfoolery, your stupidity,” you snickered, unable to help just a little bit of your humor slip by, before you nuzzled back into him again, your hands coming to rest at his shoulders. “Your voice, your hands on me, _you inside of me…”_ Tilting your head, you managed to press your nose back to the space just beside his own. 

Alastor huffed a breath against your chin, nose tracing a line against your cheek as he shifted his face so he could capture your lips with his again. His kiss was softer, more yielding than before, as though he hoped to put some emotion into it. 

"I thought of you a lot, darling,” he murmured against your mouth, pressing another delicate kiss to your lips before continuing. "After those long days, I wished for nothing more than to come home and find you warming my bed." 

Alastor straightened then, just enough to gather your form in his arms so he could gently press you up and further into his bed. He took a pause to fix the pillow behind your head, giving you a smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. 

He removed his glasses and then stretched to lay them on his bedside table. 

Alastor returned to your prone form and, after settling his lanky frame between your bowed thighs, leaned in to kiss you again. He took most of his weight on his elbows to ensure he didn't lean directly on the bump; even still, one hand managed to move into your hair, tilting your head so he could deepen the kiss. 

Your hands had moved to his shoulders when he first moved you, your fingers now bunching in the material of his shirt. He was warm and solid and _real_ after all this time, and you selfishly relished having him above you again, as pathetic as that sounded. 

Once he broke the kiss, Alastor shifted just enough so he could press his face to your collarbone, still mindful of staying away from your neck. 

"Missed you," he repeated your earlier phrase, face squashed almost impossibly close to your skin. "Didn't realize how much I missed you 'til I heard your voice -" 

Alastor gave another tiny shudder; such open honesty with another didn't come easily and each word set off sparks of anxiety to bloom in his chest, his muscles twitching with unease - 

_When had the ache in his chest gotten so bad? -_

He pressed as close to you as he could manage comfortably, nuzzling into the softness of your breast as though chasing comfort through your presence alone.

"Lemme show you," Alastor lifted his face just enough to croon up at you from under his lashes. " _Please_?" his voice ended in a whine. 

Your eyes softened even more than you thought possible and, as your breath stuttered in your lungs at the sight of him peering up at you so… so _adoringly_ , perhaps your mind was just trying desperately to piece together things that just weren’t there in a hopefulness that came naturally with your naivety. 

Once upon a time you would have shied away from the thought of undressing him, knowing full well of his preferences and how much he seemed to lack in the desire to…

_This._

But here he was, throwing you in a loop (as always) and indulging the more primal desires that his masculinity brought to the stage - and selfishly, you secretly adored that you were to be the only audience member attending. It was true, you were no saint, and you would never claim to be either. 

For the first time, you couldn’t bring yourself to actually speak - his gaze was like a kaleidoscope galaxy, and you were a lost astronaut, or perhaps his gaze was as deep as the earth, his _actions_ enough to construct an earthquake in its wake; your clover, your luck, your _everything._ When you brought your hand up, you hesitated it over his dress shirt for a moment.

When you met his eyes, you were about to will yourself to say something when he beat you to it:

“I don’t bite.” 

That stupid fucking charming smile paired it off to which your expression flat-lined and you immediately huffed out a soft:

“Yes you _do_.” 

Let’s face it, you found it a lot easier to say the first thing on your mind than actually think it through like an adult. You felt his body rumble above you in a silent laugh, just as you settled yourself back down away and began to lose yourself in the feeling of his body beneath the cool fabric he still possessed. 

Without another moment to waste - you could practically hear the ticking from outside the room - you ran your hands up the hard planes of his chest from the position you had beneath him and began to unbutton it slowly. 

Alastor watched you closely, his eyes tracking over your form while your fingers worked away at his buttons. He truly _had_ missed you, he realized now, noting the small changes to your body, your breasts and hips a bit fuller than before. 

His impatience won out; while you were no doubt lost in your head, fingers now hesitating just above his last button, Alastor bent his head just enough to capture one nipple between his lips, salving it with his tongue. He tugged at it before leaning back, watching as your back arched up as if chasing more of the feeling, your mouth falling open slightly. 

Your eyes had a slightly glassy look to them as desire bloomed in your belly; a pretty blush covered your cheeks and was beginning to spread down your neck and chest, he noted with a burst of masculine pride. 

Alastor pressed a kiss to your sternum before shifting to his knees so he could gracefully shrug his shirt off; even without his glasses, he caught the way your pupils expanded, your eyes raking over his lithe form as he moved to settle back over you.

Still resting on his elbows, Alastor managed to curl one hand under your back, helping to support the curve of your spine so you automatically lifted your chest up. He hummed, the sound more a purr of content than anything, before dropping a series of small kisses across your collarbone. 

"Sweet girl," he cooed to your skin, nosing into the softness of your breast again. "May I touch you?" 

Alastor's dark eyes dropped to linger on your lower body, hoping his meaning was clear. 

“Please…” 

Alastor gave you a rather deliciously devilish grin, shifting himself back on his long legs so he could resettle himself a little further down the bed; now, his face fell even with your belly button, his legs dangling off the bed behind him as his hands came to reposition at your hips. 

He landed his first kiss to the side of your navel, his lashes fluttering against your skin in a way that made your own flutter close in response. Then another to your right hip bone, before nuzzling his way back to sigh a breath of hot air against the skin stretched over your bump.

Alastor adjusted himself so most of his weight fell on one elbow and forearm, so he could trail the fingertips of the other hand over the curve of your hip and down the smooth expanse of your thigh. When his graceful fingers reached just behind your knee, he gently urged your leg to crook upwards just enough that he could shift and press an open-mouthed kiss to the juncture of your thigh. 

The new position had you open to his gaze, the tell-tale burning of a blush on your face at odds with the growing pit of need coiling in your core. You could feel the coolness of your arousal against your heated skin as the evening air hit it. 

Your hips lifted of their own accord, just enough to subconsciously tilt your pelvis in his direction. You felt his puff of warm breath as he chuckled at your wantonness. 

"Needy thing..." Alastor teased gently as if he hadn't been just as openly pathetic only so much earlier - having his sense of control back helped greatly it seemed.

One long finger came to swipe along your folds, collecting your slick. 

"Let daddy show you how it's done." 

In the next instant your mind went blissfully blank, your back arching as Alastor's hot mouth fell to your core. His tongue quickly found your sensitive pearl hidden away, his lips tugging gently (so _sweetly_ ) that you nearly reached that orgasmic bliss from that and that alone. 

“Hah… god, yes…”

You fisted your fingers in the quilt of his bed, the small logical part of your brain that still functioned not wanting to pull his hair and take away from his focus on you. The coil of desire was tightening almost alarmingly fast in your belly, your thighs tensing under Alastor’s affection - it had been so long since you felt his warmth and weight in such intimate ways and you were steadily climbing towards your peak - 

His nose brushed your clit as Alastor turned his attention to your heat, tongue and lips moving sinfully against your flesh; soft, lewd sounds filled the air, mixing with the sweet panting escaping your lips. 

"A-Al," you huffed gently, your tone one of breathlessness still. This time your hands did find their place in his locks, nails scratching ever so slowly across his scalp until the man slowed. 

Evidence of your arousal shone on his face when he lifted it slightly, dark eyes searching your face for any sign he should stop. When he was met with only your wide, shining eyes and flushed face, he turned as if to return to his task, but another gentle tug to his hair stopped him. 

"I want you," you cooed to him, drawing your thighs up in a way you hoped would tantalize him. "I want to _feel_ you -"

"You can, darling…” There was a hint of dark amusement in Alastor’s tone; his finger slowly breached your slick core, causing your eyes to drop shut and your hips to stutter. 

"Besides, it's only the First Act - have _patience_." 

The man crooked his finger then, finding the soft fleshy part hidden just inside your fluttering inner walls; he twisted his hand so he could press against this sweet spot and return to suckling on your now swollen clit. 

You managed to give his hair (what you hoped) was a slightly firmer tug as if to warn him he wasn't getting away that easily, before the tension in your belly was once again climbing and your head fell back so you could tilt your hips to meet his mouth even more. 

_Because good god did he feel amazing._

Between the ministrations of his digit inside you and the constant attention to your clit, your first orgasm crested suddenly and powerfully. It broke like some high tension band in your gut, your thighs clamping around his head as your body shook, although it did nothing to slow the man down. 

He continued to nose and press his lips to your core, even after your waves of pleasure had eased and you had slumped, boneless and winded from the sudden force of your release, back into his pillow. 

Then and only then did he pause.

"Good show, sweetheart." Alastor crooned to you, lifting himself enough so that he could drag the back of his hand across his mouth. 

He grinned down at you, eyes crinkled in mirth. His own arousal was pressing painfully against the front of his slacks, but Alastor’s attention remained locked on you as you blinked slowly at him. 

It had easily been one of the most amazing orgasms of your life, now that he indulged your desires and had it paired with your tsunami of emotions, you couldn’t bring yourself to do much more than pant down at him, even as he settled so brilliantly between your thighs. 

Your fingers twitched against his head after a second, as if you were no more than rebooting and you had forgotten how to function like a normal human being.

To be fair, it wasn’t that far off.

Like his eyes often were when they came to you, your pupils dilated (a subconscious reaction of course in hopes to capture more of him through sight alone) as you let your hand fall from the mop of his head and trail down to the side of his cheek; it was a tender moment in which you were allotted the ability to smooth the texture of his flesh beneath your thumb. 

“You’re the master performer, daddy, I dunno why you’re actin’ like I am…” Despite the teasing, flirtatious words you spoke, the tenderness in your voice simply could not be competed against. 

Your hips seemed to chase after that friction you had felt beforehand, the tension in your gut which had momentarily been appeased now growing again with the idea of him inside of you. So you did what you could and attempted to lift your hips in an attempt to brush against his own. 

It was like an itch that you couldn’t quite scratch - and he was the only relief. 

“Ah… _Please.”_

Alastor gave you a knowing smirk and rolled his hips to meet the arch of your own. The change in your spine's position angled your petite bump upwards more, and he quickly sought to press his palm to it again, shifting back on his legs so he could loom over you. 

Your hair was mussed, spread out on his pillow; your cheeks burned brightly, the soft lamplight illuminating your skin in such a way that made his fingers twitch with the thought to touch you. Your eyes shone up at him, bottom lip swollen from his attention. 

_You really were a pretty thing_. 

"How can I deny my girl, hmm?" he cooed to you, his other hand moving to tackle the buckle on his slacks. "Stay put, sweetheart." 

With one last kiss to your inner thigh, Alastor moved back so he could stand. He made short work of removing his slacks and briefs, and in no time he had made his way back to you. 

You watched his lithe form in the lamplight, the lean yet defined muscles of his form highlighted by shadow, and swallowed heavily against the rising physical ache in the core of your belly. You squeezed your thighs together impulsively, seeking some way to ease the burn just as Alastor’s hands moved to land on your knees; your legs shamelessly spread for him with ease. 

With a pleased hum, the man settled himself between them, leaning forward until his face came to rest at your collarbone once more. His nose nudged against your skin tenderly just as you felt his hot, throbbing length press up against your slick core. 

Alastor peppered a trail of small kisses along your clavicle (he wanted desperately to nip and kiss your neck until you bruised again, but knew better - ), shifting his weight onto one side so he could hook your leg up and over his elbow. 

He pressed himself gently to your folds, gathering your slick on his tip as he thrust shallowly against you. At long last, it seemed, you met his gaze as his eyes settled on your face again.

"You sure you're ready for Act Two, darling?" Alastor purred, dipping his head to latch on to your breast again. 

His tongue worked wide strokes across your peak; your hands flew to grasp his shoulders, fingers gripping as you pushed yourself up into him. 

"Y-Yes," you huffed, trying to urge him to hurry up by rolling your hips again. He slid deliciously through your folds, causing you to shiver under his weight. "J-just… _please_." The whine was almost embarrassing with how clear it was. 

That was all it seemed the man needed to hear; Alastor bent his head to suckle your breast again but this time the latch of his lips was combined with the soft tilt of his hip. His length pressed gently against your core until the tip finally eased in, making you suck in a shuddering breath. 

Without waiting further, Alastor pressed himself forward until his narrow hips fell flush with the slant of your own. He was breathing in harshly through his nose, mouth resting on the swell of your breast. 

There was a moment of simple peacefulness as the two of you lay supine and so intimately connected. His size was no joke at the best of times, and now after weeks apart you felt pleasantly stretched and full, your legs drawing subconsciously around his hips and bum to pull him close. 

"Fuck,” Alastor muttered, face still pressed to you. "You feel so good, m'love."

Your body quivered beneath his, a furious series of chills running through your flesh as you let out a gasp - if only to show that you were still very much adjusting to his size after so long apart. 

You could feel how his cock throbbed inside of you, the vessels and veins within pumping blood to make the area that much more sensitive. There was a minute amount of pain - more so a discomfort - to feeling his girth and length again, and to appease it, you tried to arch your back a bit more.

Eventually, you discovered, there was nothing you could do other than just relax against the sudden intrusion - and so you willed yourself to, the muscles in your thighs were the first, your abdomen, and then finally the rest of your body until you returned to the manner that you had been in only moments ago: needy, boneless, and longing.

“You feel even better,” you cooed as you attempted to roll your hips to ease that remaining discomfort a bit more (some part of you wanted to keep slathering him in chosen words to boost his ego - it was an emotional moment for the both of you, and by god did the man have an inflated ego) before moving to lift your hand up and press it to the side of his cheek. 

But being under him, as much as you knew he wouldn’t try something stupid like before again, still didn’t sit completely right with you. 

“Can I…” You started, a heavy blush coating your cheeks as a soft moan slipped out in the moment that you focused on him inside of you - he parted your walls so nicely, how could you not? - “Can I be on top?” 

Alastor gave a pleased grunt as your walls fluttered around his length, your hips shifting around him as you tried to adjust. He had missed this feeling, of being so intimately fused to you, the feel of your body wrapped tightly around his - 

Alastor gave a deep shudder, muscles misfiring as a mixture of adrenaline and deep longing bloomed in his chest and spread along his form. 

"Sweet girl," his nose pressed to your sternum so he could lay a rather wet kiss there. His voice was no louder than a soft murmur, one meant for lovers alone. "I'm yours, however you want." 

Alastor lifted his head then and shot you a wink, his hair just as mussed as your own. You took a moment to openly ogle his body, all lean cut muscles and deceptively smooth skin in between the littering of scars across his chest and arms, as he moved to wrap his arms at your waist. 

He bent his legs and scooped you forward into his grasp before the man smoothly rolled to one side. Alastor turned until he landed flat, hair tousled in a way that made him look almost boyish, reclined on his pillow while you sat propped prettily upon his waist. 

One hand moved automatically to rub and soothe the skin over your bump, all while Alastor continued to grin up at you. 

Almost immediately, you pressed forward to place a rather heated kiss upon his lips, a gentle sigh escaping you as you nuzzled your nose into the space against his, lips pressing and cradling his own in a way that betrayed your true emotions for him - affection, longing, _desire_. 

_I love you,_ you wanted to gasp against him as you began to gingerly roll your hips slowly - it still stung a bit, but now that _someone_ was moving, it was better.

But you didn’t say a word.

You _knew_ what his reaction would be, so you chose to close your eyes in hopes to disregard it completely; perhaps that was selfish - but you were no saint. Just because he couldn’t say it yet without lying, didn’t mean you couldn’t; you had never been quiet about your feelings for him, so it wasn’t like he hadn’t ever heard it before… but after so long apart? 

Your thighs were spread against his sides, on either side for him to manipulate or spread them apart to his liking as you leaned forward to move the kisses to his cheek, his jaw, and then down to his neck; funnily enough, when you reached his neck, you hid yourself there just like he did for himself. 

“I missed you so much,” you whispered the earlier words, perhaps just to fully engrave it in that beautiful mind of his. You pressed yourself closer to him, chest on chest even just for a second.

Whoever said a moment couldn’t last a lifetime? 

Alastor's hands went to your hips, palms smoothing over your curves as you rounded your pelvis to roll against him. He managed to tilt his head enough that he could press his nose to the juncture of your neck and collarbone even as you lay with him - it was as close as he dared to get to that particular sensitive area.

His eyes fluttered closed at your words, ego swelling with pride to hear the longing in your voice. Better yet, was the warmth pooling in his chest, unbidden and temperate, as he relished the feeling of having you in his arms once again. 

"And I missed you, my darling.” Alastor whispered to you, voice tickling the shell of your ear as his lips grazed it. 

Your cheek rested against his now, your elbows holding you up slightly as your hips worked to grind down on his. The heavy feeling constricting in his lower belly hinted at just how long it had been since he had so sinfully sunk into your heat. His hands gripped your hips a little tighter as the pressure built, fingertips greedily massaging your skin. 

Alastor _whined_ your name then, his own hips lifting just enough to slightly unseat you, your thighs stretching to adjust to the sudden shift. He was gentlemanly enough to catch your arms and steady you, although he naturally took the advantage and moved so you both touched noses. 

His hands went back to your hips rather quickly (now that you were steady again) and he pulled on you almost wantonly, needing just a little bit _more_ to start easing the ache deep in his center. His senses were full of you - the smell of your hair, the sound of you breathing above him, the warm smoothness of your body - and the man found himself more than willing to submit to the irresistible draw of it all. 

"S-sweetheart, _please,_ " Alastor huffed rather breathlessly against your chin, eyes closed against the sensations bombarding him. "I-I need you, w-want you…" 

To be quite honest, you stilled for a moment at the feeling of him nuzzling against your neck, but amongst the sensations that were slowly building up to the grand finale, you couldn’t help but brush it off, even for a moment. It had been true, your words of forgiveness, and they still were, but the memory that clouded your mind was nothing short of _un_ forgiving. 

Oh yes, love was confusing at the best of times. 

Albeit, you did furrow your brows at his chosen words, before your eyes softened once you realized the true meaning to them. Bringing your face up, you pressed your lips to his forehead and began to gently trail kisses down the bridge of his nose before moving to his cheek, only to press against it with your own once more, and then against the lobe of his ear.

“Fast like this?” You whispered, raising your hips up so that you could focus completely on his tip, quickly enough that each time you pressed them forwards, you had to hold onto him a bit tighter. Your breath caught in your throat before a light moan escaped you, just as you brought yourself to fully engulf him once again, your hips slowly coming to rock against him. 

“Or slow like this?” 

Alastor shuddered beneath you; he had moaned shortly after you had, voice more of a growl than anything but it only served to fuel the fire of desire in your belly.

His hands shifted now that you were seated closer again, hips rotating slowly. One shifted to smooth across the expanse of your bump, the other running up your back so as to tuck you closer. 

Alastor panted your name up at you, the sound breathlessly reverent, like some prayer falling from his lips. The warmth in his chest had begun to mix with the burning desire in his core, creating a deep ache there. 

"More, darling," he couldn’t hide the twinge of need from colouring his voice as he stared at you with wide, blatantly _adoring_ eyes. "Jus' give me all of you, I-I need more of you."

The feeling coiling in his center seemed to be humming inside him, rooted by the physicality of your affection. Perhaps it was due to the extended time away from each other, but the rawness of it all made Alastor desperate to ground himself to you. He lifted his hips to yours insistently, just as he was always inclined to be, as though to better encourage you. 

" _Please_ , sweetheart..." 

You pressed your lips to his cheek before moving to trail your kisses back towards his lips. Your hips began moving on their own accord once again, perhaps stirred on by the words and desire that pooled heavily in your own gut. 

Hovering your mouth over his, you smooshed your nose against his and pressed a sweet kiss to his lips. There was patience, there was calmness, as if the two of you hadn’t been at each other’s throats only a bit ago. Quite an interesting relationship you had found yourself in, and yet…

Well, you wouldn’t change it for the world. 

Especially as you brought your hand up to lay it over his own, just upon the swell that had grown against your abdomen. Instantly, you were met with a catastrophic amount of emotion, the reality perhaps finally settling in that the two of you were _really_ going to be parents - it wasn’t a fact that could easily be accepted, but one that the two of you needed to. 

But such thoughts were easily washed away, especially when he felt so _lovely_ inside of you. You began to roll your hips a bit quicker, never quite letting him escape the heat of your core, the soft coos and moans that fluttered from your lips, hushed by the night and by the proximity of your mouth over his. 

“Like that, my love?” You whispered against his lips. “You wanna show me?”

Alastor gave another pleased grunt, and this time his bottom lip came to catch yours so his teeth could nip you lightly. His hands settled back on your waist, although the one that had been at your bump lingered, fingers interlacing with yours sweetly before he pulled away to grab your curves. 

His palms were calloused and rough against your hips, the difference in texture causing goosebumps to flare across your skin. One hand gave you an encouraging squeeze, his other steady at your side to help support you as you shifted your hips upwards slightly. 

The new angle had him brushing against that sweet spot tucked away in your core, the tell-tale coil of pleasure beginning to tighten in your belly. Alastor's hand gave you another squeeze, silently encouraging the roll of your hips - his lips had yet to completely leave yours, the man intent on lavishing attention on your bottom lip. 

"Yes..." Alastors voice was little more of a hiss than anything; his hand was now guiding you to take deeper strokes against the shallow thrust of his own hips, your pace still steady. 

The sound of his rich voice _alone_ affected you, but coupled with the delicious friction between your bodies, had your toes curling slightly, the strain in your thighs beginning to show as your muscles quivered.

With a gasp - he had hit a particularly _deep_ spot and you momentarily saw spots dance in front of your vision - you shifted to readjust your hands, your palms falling to the hard plane of his abdomen so you could stretch a bit. 

"Ah-Alastor," you whined at him; even with space now between the two of you, he was still a snug fit and your body ached to accommodate him. "You're - ah - _bigger_ than I-I-" 

Your words dropped off just as your head dropped back; even though he remained reclined on his pillow, Alastor reached one hand down to your slick folds, agile fingers quickly finding your needy and swollen bud. 

With a grin reminiscent of the cat who ate the canary, Alastor laid lazy strokes against your flesh while you continued to roll your hips against his. 

"Good girl, that's it," the man practically sang to you, although he was suspiciously breathless, his own peak not far off (how could it be, when you moved so sinfully against him?). "You're doing so well for me, sweetheart, you take me so well." 

Alastor’s voice seemed to reach you even though the rising sound of your pulse in your ears. 

Dewy perspiration dotted your forehead, baby-hairs curling and beginning to stick to your temples and the sides of your neck. You rolled your head forward then, soft moans still dropping from your lips as you continued to move your hips, now pushing back the feeling of strain in your thighs and arms, just to chase after the near-bursting dam of pleasure in your gut. 

"Yes, sweet girl," the man seemed to be stuck rambling, a broken record player, caught up as his own waves of pleasure threatened to crest in his belly. "Jus' like that, _cher_ , jus' like that."

Just as his own, your own lips never truly left his, parted and panting as you struggled to take in breath as you ghosted your mouth over his; the effort of sharing breath was almost too much in your climbing desires, the feeling, _the sound_ of him slipping in and out of you so effortlessly as you lifted your hips and grinded back down on him. 

When you closed your eyes, focused on his voice, his movements, _him_ alone, you nearly lost yourself. 

“Ah…”

But this was no rush to the finish line, and so as you brought yourself back to the present, barely holding onto the will to keep the orgasm at bay, you ran your hands up his chest and up to his shoulders, just enough to press on the pillow and get space between it and his neck so that you could encircle your arms behind him in a hug. A hug was often so innocent, so pure, and yet as you grinded against him - so _sinfully -_ you let your head fall to rest against your own bicep and his neck. 

“Please… Please fuck me,” you whispered against his jaw, stopping your wanton grinding in hopes to give him the permission to love you as he (you) so desperately wanted.

“I-I’m so close…”

Alastor blinked, nostrils flaring and his dark eyes wide. There was a brief pause as your words seemed to finally permeate the potent fog that had clouded his mind. 

The man brushed his mouth to yours, the moment almost disarmingly gentle before his lips claimed yours with a little more force. The hunger behind his action, the way his bottom lip tugged and caressed your own, did nothing but stoke the fire of desire in your belly. 

Strong arms once again moved to wrap around you; this time Alastor’s shifting roll was less graceful. He slipped from you just enough that you both subconsciously shuddered at the loss of contact, even as the man settled you on your back and repositioned himself between your legs. 

Alastor began pressing delicate kisses to your collarbone as he lost little time in easing his throbbing length back into your heat; your body eagerly clenched around him, inner muscles fluttering wildly as he started (agonizingly so) slowly thrusting. 

"I'll give you anything your heart desires, doll." He promised against your heated skin. "Jus' stay with me, lemme keep you-" 

As if unable to help himself, given how the evening had proceeded, the man abruptly dipped his head to trail his lips over your left breast, blunt teeth scraping and tugging the nipple. Alastor soothed the lingering sting with a swipe of his hot tongue; his hips continued plunging slowly between yours, his cock nudging the edge of your cervix in a way that had your thighs quivering from where they were locked around his waist. 

Your arms immediately came to round around his shoulders in an effort to keep him close - to cement in your mind that through his heated flesh, the slight dewiness evident there that he was _real_ , that after these long weeks you were finally back together. 

With each thrust, as achingly slow as it was, it seemed that there was a lot more emotion that couldn’t be accurately portrayed through words alone; rather, you found quite amusing coming from a man who always seemed to know _just_ what to say, action spoke louder than words.

And coming from Alastor, well, it was _odd._

But he never really had the tendency to make much sense, either.

No, the man was an enigma that you doubted you would ever fully understand - even getting a grasp on him was daunting at times and it was undoubtedly something that had caused disagreements that could have never happened in the first place if he had been a bit more… normal? He was a queer one, no doubt. 

Your father had told you such a thing on one or two occasions, but given the circumstances, it was a bit late to offer you his two cents. 

The more that your mind scrambled to find purchase in the mind numbing tsunami of thoughts that would have left you falling far out of the mood; it was definitely something that you could ponder on at a later point, but as you trailed your left hand up and rooted your fingertips into his locks, you found yourself caring less and less about the hows and whys of the past and present, and lost yourself in the feeling of _him._

“You’re the one who keeps leaving,” you gasped as he hit that oh-so-wonderful spot inside of you. It probably would have been enough to send you over the edge had he been going a bit faster. 

As you lowered your head to peer down at him, still nestled against your chest (the sensation of him suckling on your rather tender breasts gave you a spark of pleasure - some maternal flare that was not aimed at _him_ but at the action itself), you came to notice just how intricate the inner workings of his mind were by mere physical expression alone.

You recalled him telling you many times that you were his, but it seemed as though he needed the reassurance now (which made absolutely no sense to you because he was the one that had left in the first place). 

“Forever yours… but ah…” Your voice was strained slightly as your thoughts began to falter towards more… _less than lady-like_ ones. “P-please go faster.” In an attempt to really portray how close you were, you fluttered your muscles and tried to roll your hips against his - but, such a thing was a bit difficult when your position was being used against you.

Still intimately attached to your chest, Alastor stilled slightly - you held your frustrated groan in but only just barely - and although his hips stuttered against yours, the man was able to keep his languid pace, cock parting your slick walls with ease.

He wanted nothing more than to bury his face in the safe confines of your neck, to breathe in deeply the lingering sweet scent of your bath and hair products, the softness and warmth found against your form able to ground him securely. 

Instead, Alastor settled for pressing his face as close to the swell of your breasts as he could, breathing far more harshly than perhaps he should have been. His thin hips kept their unrelenting pace, steady enough to keep the fire stoked in your core, but not enough to tip you over the final edge; your nails dug lightly into his shoulders, although whether it was in warning or encouragement, even you couldn’t quite say. 

"Don't leave…" he muttered, voice muffled against your skin. "Can't leave… can't lose you… won't lose you…" 

Alastor nuzzled against you, the deep sigh he heaved washing warmly over your flesh as he selfishly denied you anything _more_. 

He had stayed away - unsure if you would want to return to him, unsure if the unfortunate glimpse of his truer self would knock sense into you - afraid and unwilling to quite yet meet the reality of having lost you (and the babe in your womb). 

Now, it seemed he was on the cusp of having his private life and the one he crafted publicly collide. And rather suddenly, the idea of keeping you safe, tucked away from prying eyes, from those who might try to steal you away hit hard and the flare of protectiveness in his chest quickly assuaged any of the remaining guilt of his past actions. 

Just then, the man rolled his hips so that he bottomed out; your back arched as though to meet him as your teeth worried your bottom lip between them. You struggled weakly, trying your best to lift your pelvis to his, caught between bliss as he continued to lavish you with languid affection, the other half of you near desperate for your release. 

The man skimmed his lips over the valley of your breasts, moving then to suckle small patches along the line of your collar bone. The skin flushed, although weak enough that he doubted you'd have to worry about marks. Still, it felt _right_ to move into the crest of emotions whirling in his chest. 

Alastor lifted his head then, eyes burning in the dimness, heavy with some emotion he was clearly being swept away by. His lean arms came to press further into the backs of your thighs, opening your body to him even more; the tops of his thighs brushed the backs of yours as he continued to thrust into you. 

He cooed your name, one hand drifting back to circle your swollen clit as his hips surged. His mouth parted as though he meant to say more; however, after a moment of his jaw working furiously but otherwise silently, Alastor gave a rather pitiful whimper (not that he would ever admit to it) before moving back to the safety of hiding his face to your sternum. 

As if to hide even more, Alastor finally (mercifully) began to pump his hips a bit faster, his length plunging into your welcoming heat. His fingers kept up their onslaught against your oversensitized clit, your almost obscene amount of slick easing his ministrations. 

A soft moan fluttered up from amidst your throat as your mind began to work overtime to focus on that sweet sensation that was an addictive ambrosiac to the two of you when you were together. That heat that was just right, never too hot, but warm - an ember that flint and stone could forge into a greater flame.

His words became a bit more muffled amongst the onslaught of his hips, and if you hadn’t been so, so close, chasing that promise of fulfillment, you would have perhaps humored him. Having been granted pain, emotionally and physically through the life that grew within you, the moments where you were able to escape from it all and just feel _good_ were few and far between. 

Perhaps ushered on from your positive physical responses, the force behind each thrust grew a bit stronger albeit sloppy in a way that gave away his own completion. 

You could feel his breath against you, hear him pant those words that made a heated shiver run up the base of your spine until finally that tsunami of a wave crested over and you were left to float in a sea of pleasure. Your fingers gripped into his shoulders a bit harder, digging into the flesh while your lips praised his name.

It was all that was needed to feel that sudden warmth of his own release within you, and paired with that lovely groan of his (that could have very well given you stamina for round two if he kept that up) it was unmistakable.

Therefore, it did not take you long to find yourself, sticky and shiny with sweat and probably his own saliva against your breasts, along with your own arousal, a bit boneless. But some part of you was exempt from that, it appeared, as you wrapped your arms over his shoulders and your legs around his waist.

Despite living in the aftermaths of your orgasm, your desire to keep him close (the closest way you could think of doing, being so intimately fused) was fueled by the anxiety of letting him part from you despite the eventual need to. But for now…

“Stay inside of me…”

Above you, Alastor had gone similarly boneless, lithe body lax as he slumped rather comfortably against you. His cheek was squashed to your breast, a lazy half-smile stretching his mouth. For all intents and purposes, he was going nowhere anytime soon, but your moment of possessiveness was appreciated all the same. 

The man broke contact just enough to nuzzle you with his nose before he sighed and let his cheek fall back to its original resting place. He was sure there were words you were perhaps waiting to hear from him; he was slightly perturbed that the well of emotion that had been pooling in his chest had only grown after your coupling- he had been hoping physical exertion would have sated it. 

_It didn’t._

Now, however, Alastor was more than content to merely soak in the attention and affection you lavished on him. He softened inside you, some of your combined release trickling down the inside of one of your thighs. He canted his hips upwards just slightly, enough so that his cock remained nestled inside your warmth despite _every_ part of his body easing further into comfortable relaxation. 

"Darling…" Alastor trailed off, pausing to heave another deep sigh as though he was still slightly winded. You felt his skin stretch over his lean form under your fingertips as you continued to hold him close. 

He pressed open-mouthed kisses to the parts of your body he could reach under your grip, only adding to the sheen that seemed to coat your skin. 

"I missed you, sweetheart." His words washed warmly over the dampness that still clung to your flesh. 

Alastor made a weird keening sound, his eyes fluttering shut as his frustration filtered over his face. 

"I said that already," he huffed, but when his dark eyes opened again, he locked his gaze on you. "But I mean it, little bird." 

He wasn't great at… _this_ , but he was trying, hard as it was having the emotional range of a rock. 

It was a bit odd to have him reveal such a vulnerability to you, but it was something that you had begun to realize was quite the rare occurrence. 

It made moments like these _wonderful_ and so much more special than any other could have been. Although, if you were being the sap that your parents raised you to be just to please her husband after a long day of work, every moment was special with him. 

_God, you were really turning into your mother._

“Mm…” The sensation of him softening instinctively caused you to roll your hips to better keep him inside of you - the closest two lovers could physically be. 

Although, the exhalation was more of a sigh of satisfaction than it was of sexual nature; your arms tightening around his shoulders to keep him even closer, albeit your palms smoothed out over the shoulder blades and where you had once been rough, now were soothing and gentle. You could feel the goosebumps that rose along the warmth of his flesh.

“I missed you...” You cooed back to him in repetition - a theme for the night it would seem.

You leaned your head up to meet his nose - your head lifting from the pillow slightly, your lips hovering against his as you brought your right hand to twist the gentle wave of the shorter hairs at the base of his head. 

“So, so much. I’m not going-” you pressed your nose into the corner of his. “-anywhere. I won’t leave,” you pressed your lips to his then briefly.

When you parted, you moved your left hand to try and guide his own between your bodies; there, the bump resided. 

_Bigger than I thought - what did that mean?_

“... I can’t.”

Alastor's hand flexed lightly in your grip, his fingers then reaching so he could curl his palm to the swell of your belly. He sighed, another heavy yet sated sound, as his hand began to move. 

The motion was of course stilted by the fact that both of your bodies were still nearly flush, but the man was grateful for what small circles he was able to trace there. 

The fact that his length was still intimately tucked inside of you made the now-familiar spark of masculine pride flare in his chest, while the evidence of your bump beneath his fingertips only stoked his ego more.

_(Which was dangerous for a man like Alastor)._

He canted his hips a little more and then twisted so he could have better access to your lower half. 

If you hadn’t been lazing in the post-orgasmic high together, it undoubtedly would have been anything but a comfortable position. 

Regardless, Alastor felt the muscles that lay just beneath your belly quiver as his fingertips tickled across your skin, and the same curious feeling of warmth as before abruptly bloomed in his chest so strongly he immediately sought to hide. He settled for assuaging that particular urge by pressing his nose to your collarbone and dropping light kisses to the patch of your skin he could reach without disturbing you.

Once the flare of warmth had simmered slightly (now blazing comfortably in his gut like some secret flame) and despite the fact that the two of you were still cuddled up in some sweaty, boneless pile, Alastor simply allowed himself to sink back into the comfort of the familiar feel that your body brought him as your fingers continued to play in his hair. 

His cheek moved back to rest on your chest so that his features looked oddly warped and smooshed against you, although the pleased smirk on his lips was clear. 

The man hummed lowly then, hand on your bump still stroking gently. 

“No, s’pose not,” he murmured softly, eyes closing and the lines of his face relaxing; he had slept even less than he normally did while the pair of you were parted, and it seemed to be catching up to him. 

There was a brief moment following his words in which the voices in his ears began to start up their usual din; however, Alastor found that the steady beat of your heart pumping away in your breast easily drowned them out, and he selfishly allowed himself to focus on the present moment, keeping his ear pressed to your sternum as his hand on your waist never ceased its rubbing. 

He thought briefly to stir long enough to kiss you properly but found the rhythmic thumping of your pulse was slowly lulling him to sleep -

“...s’all mine…” the man cooed, voice still softer than you were used to hearing. The apple of his cheek moved oddly, his lips pursing slightly as he spoke from his position squished against you; however, Alastor made no attempt at moving. 

Some part of him marvelled at how _pathetic_ it all seemed; admittedly, he hadn’t quite expected to have _this_ kind of reaction to your being back, but that now that you were, Alastor couldn’t deny he was anything other than happy to have you to himself once again. 

Something that you would undoubtedly grow more aware of was that after sessions such as these (and something that you would take _advantage_ of because he was a piece of shit sometimes - what was a girl to do?) he had the tendency to drift off, energy completely sapped, while you lay awake and completely aware. 

But through the weeks of being apart, you too had lacked sleep and so, after a heavy sigh, you managed to somehow convince him - nonverbally - to move from literally slow-collapsing onto your body. The more he relaxed, the heavier he became, and soon enough you found yourself acknowledging the fact that he had in fact slipped out of you in the process. 

Damn.

But, at the very least, he wasn’t on your belly anymore, right? Instead he was now on his side and unfortunately for you, you were now being crushed against him in the last small functioning remains of his consciousness. 

Instead of frowning or struggling against him, given how you most likely would have originally, you simply tucked your head beneath his and, after getting comfortable (comfort was beginning to be a bit more difficult considering you had always been a belly-sleeper), fell into a deep slumber.

As fate would have it, sleep would not come easily to you.

_“Ou an sekirite isit la...”_

It was a voice amongst other voices, holding a feminine quality and masculinity all at once, and although you had not a clue the language it was in your waking life, you understood very clearly what the voices were trying to convey. 

_You are safe here..._

Confusion was not something that you knew in dreams - it was too _conscious_ to be confused, but here you were in an environment, or rather lack thereof; a void of everything that had ever been known to you in pitch darkness, so much so that you could have very well convinced yourself that you were falling into the event horizon of a black hole itself.

It was all… warped. 

The walls, except there were no walls - it was eternal darkness, pulsated in a hum that you could feel in your very soul. Suddenly, the voices that had been speaking (although this time you didn’t understand them, it was through vibration rather than an actual voice, you just _knew_ they were talking somehow) went quiet.

_Too quiet._

Who knew silence had a sound?

“S-Safe?”

Your own voice nearly made you jump out of your skin, but it cemented the fact that you were in fact conscious. Somehow, you felt like there were eyes on you and you felt very much exposed, every single hair along your body standing on edge. And then there was a ringing in your ears and suddenly you looked down to your stomach and found it…

Flat.

Panic immediately shrouded your entire being, and then the humming increased before the voices began the repetition of ‘ _san danje_ ’ - safe - over and over again to the point that you managed to come to the idea that they were saying the baby was safe or that _you_ were safe from the baby. 

Or maybe it wasn’t about the baby?

It didn’t make sense. Why was your mind pulling tricks like these? You didn’t even _know_ this language, this wasn’t even your voice!

“No. No… W-Where’s my baby? Stop it! I don’t want to be here. This is just a dream…”

_So why did it feel so real?_

_“Pa an sekirite.”_

So, consider yourself thoroughly freaked out. 

“Not safe with him? Who? Alastor? My _baby?_ This isn’t real, this is a dream - just some weird side effect of pregnancy!” 

You went so far as to reach down and pinch yourself.

You didn’t wake up.

_What the fuck?_

There was an overwhelming sensation to _STOP_ in that moment and it nearly caused you to hyperventilate. There were the vibrations again and then, like some god sent an angel, you were plunged straight into the darkness and into the blue-tinted dark room of your lover. 

You immediately let out a loud gasp and twisted away from the warmth of Alastor’s body, pushing yourself up to keep your spine level with the headboard, your body once tucked into the quilt and blankets now half-revealed as you held your knees to your chest. 

You barely noticed the tears streaming down your face until a sniffle escaped you, and it was then and only then did you hold yourself a little tighter. 

_Just a nightmare._

You were too far in the depths of your emotional break to realize your turmoil had stirred the man slumbering next to you. His arm clenched as though subconsciously seeking your form next to him; when your warmth wasn't found, his eyes cracked open to take in your shuddering frame in the dimness. 

Alastor spoke your name from the near darkness, his voice thick with sleep. His large warm hand searched for you once again, his fingers dusting on the blanket but nothing more due to the fact that you had moved away.

While for the most part his sleep had been much less disturbed then your own (although he wasn't aware of that fact yet), Alastor had also been plagued by difficult visions, although they had been more like quick glimpses of some ghastly process than anything concrete - 

_A figure in a shrouded black veil. The fleeting gleam of the polished bone of a stately deer rack. Voices, agitated and imposing,_ **_warning_ ** _clear in tone but their true words jumbled -_

When you made no sign of responding, Alastor drew his long body up so he too could rest back against the headboard. He squinted, unsure of where exactly his glasses had ended up, and in the darkness he couldn't quite bring you into focus. He was just about to leap from the bed to hit the larger switch on the wall but the lamp across the room fluttered and then burned brighter, seemingly on its own. 

It was then that the man was able to see how you _truly_ were. Alastor took in the tears still wetting your blotched cheeks, and the panicked almost dissociated look on your features as you continued to hug your knees to your chest. One arm looped across your shins while the other was spread wide to the swell of your bump. Your bottom lip was trembling slightly, your eyes glazed and wide as you seemed to look past him. 

"Sweetheart," Alastor crooned, hand inching closer to you yet again. He called your name softly, voice a bit stronger as the residuals of his sleep wore away. 

Part of him wanted to do nothing more than sweep you into his arms until you calmed; another side of him felt blind panic at the sight of _your_ upset, a certain feeling of unease settling under his skin and making goosebumps rise. 

"What's wrong, darling?" Alastor settled for easing his body a bit closer to yours, resolving to keep his hands to himself and almost instantly failing as he reached to grasp your forearm. 

You jumped at the connection, and for the briefest moment it seemed as though that it was enough to bring you back down from your panicked state - the warmth and pressure to root you back into reality where you had originally found yourself tumbling further and further down the rabbit hole of madness and uncertainty.

In the long run, it didn’t. Instead, you kept your eyes trained on the wall behind him and right in front of you, blinking away the residual tears and causing your blurred vision to make the shadows that appeared there almost _haunting_ in appearance. Undulating and never truly taking on the appearance that it was meant to have, the silhouette of the object or person that it sat behind. How absolutely frightening.

_Not safe with him?_

You finally broke contact with the wall, the _shadows,_ to gaze upon his deceptively concerned facade that had been perfectly crafted throughout his years— no, those weren’t your thoughts. 

You trusted him and so, just as any naive girl would do who was undergoing the wakings of a nightmare and emotional turmoil, you launched yourself at him; your arms wrapping around his shoulders to keep him close while you buried your head just beneath his - and unbeknownst to you, the inability to see his expressions. 

“I-I had a nightmare,” you sniffled into him, the warmth that his body naturally provided offering you some sort of relief from the coldness that you had recently found yourself to occupy. You nuzzled your head into his neck, pulling yourself closer until you looked more like a koala bear than an actual human being. Amazing what size differences could allow. 

“I was alone in this d-dark room, and there were all these weird voices speaking in this w-weird language…” A sound not at all unlike a whimper escaped you at that moment, your tears staining his neck and your lips wobbling with each word you spoke. “It said I-I was safe there but I wasn’t safe with y-you.” You let out a sob. “I looked down and the baby was… was gone.” 

And that was all it took for those tears to begin to saturate his skin once again. 

Alastor managed to secure his arms around you a little more tightly, drawing your body up so you could tuck into what little space between the two of you remained. He couldn't quite see you as clearly as he would've liked - pausing briefly, the man squinted about the room for a mere second before some dark, misty tendril of shadow broke from the post of the headboard, only to return and stretch out towards Alastor. 

Here, his rounded glasses were suspended in the mist’s nothingness. 

With a soft click of his tongue, Alastor quickly fitted the frames back to his face and then, blinking slightly comically as his eyes finally adjusted, looked down at you as best as he could. Which, given how tightly you had cocooned yourself against him, was a feat in and of itself, however, your face was pressed so tightly to his thin chest he could only spot the wet tracks of tears on one cheek and the tight draw of your mouth. 

The man heaved a sigh, unable to keep the moment of weariness from permeating through his usual affable countenance. Judging by the continued presence of the inky-dark shadows in various nooks, the unintended visitors were here to stay for the time being; Alastor had wondered how long it might be before the Others, not just his Loa, would begin to seek you out for themselves. 

While his connection with his certain Loa was, as far as Alastor could assume, one of fair confidence, he was all too aware of the uncertain intentions of the spirit world. He had, after all, spent years asking and seeking advice from beyond the earthly veil, and the Loa he served (for that was the truth, everything which he received in return was owed at a price) trusted him to act within the borders of their chosen scheme; however, the spirits were always self-serving and curious in their end-game desires. 

Now as you so desperately clung to him and shook in his arms, the man wondered how best to broach such a subject, particularly to a white girl who had grown up within a pious and devoted church community...

Alastor cast his gaze around the dim gloom of his room once more, keen eyes tracking the space. Two depthless eyes shone back at him from the rim of his gilded mirror hung across the room by his dresser; his own twin, silent but always watching. In his arms, Alastor thought he felt you stiffen, as though you too had caught sight of a certain shadow - 

"Sounds like you had quite the nightmare, my dear." Alastor crooned, breaking the odd tension in the air by brushing his lips against the crown of your head. 

He sought to try and keep your attention trained on him and moved just enough to press his cheek to your own, uncaring of the tacky sheen to your skin from your tears. His large, warm hand came between the two of you only to rest on the soft swell of your tummy, physical evidence of reality more than apparent as his palm rubbed soothing circles there. 

You were still undressed from before, goosebumps racing along your sides as Alastor dragged his fingertips around the concave of your belly button, his lips ghosting against your earlobe as he lilted your name softly, as though he was afraid you might shatter in his hold. His other arm looped easily around you and ensured you remained cradled against his lanky form despite the slight awkwardness of your combined positions. 

"You seem all accounted for," he murmured, hand stilling and molding to the curve of your belly. "Both of you." 

The frown was still very much prevalent on your lips as your emotions controlled your outwardly physicalities, but his voice, soothing in its own wonder, seemed to at the very least ground you to the present and take you away from the fear that had built in your mind. Your heart, which had been thundering away from the moment you had reawoken, began to slowly calm in its speed as you sucked in a deep breath, your frazzled mind still minutely capable of understanding that you needed to calm down. 

The sensation of his palm encompassing the area brought you a sense of grounding that you hadn’t realized you needed as you leaned hiccuping away against him. Perhaps it was because Alastor, a man that was known to have a way with his words and would have undoubtedly been just fine with being across the room and calming you down without ever touching you, was now easing you through your own way. _Affection._

Which was odd in and of itself and, if you hadn’t currently been trying to catch your breath and ease the thundering of your heart, you would have humored the fact that a few months ago, he wouldn’t let you touch him. But here you were, wrapped up in his arms - afraid, emotional, pregnant, _engaged._

What a funny world. 

“I-I…” you stuttered out, the words dying on your lips as you slowly began to realize that his mere presence was enough. He was enough. The reality of the dream - nightmare - had to have been created from the stories you’d heard of miscarriages, right? _Right?_ You sniffled as you moved one of your arms from around his shoulders and let it navigate towards your own belly. 

The feeling of the top of his hand against your palm made a heavy, but rather weak sigh escape your lips. Finally, as if afraid of peering down, you moved your head to look towards your stomach. The bump was still there. The baby was _still there._ The tension that had been in your shoulders immediately died at the realization that it really _had_ been a dream, that your tired mind which had still been reeling from such a nightmare had still thought it had been reality when it simply had not been.

“You’re still there…” You managed. 

Alastor hummed, repositioning his head to better rest against the top of your own. Now that you seemed on the way down from the high to your emotional upset, he was able to feel your body finally beginning to relax in his arms and your crying slowly ebbing - the sight of your tears drying on your cheeks made his stomach churn in a way he made a note to ponder later when he wasn't so weary. 

Instead, for once in his otherwise hectic life pace, Alastor was content to simply rest and sit with you, the feeling of your weight back in his arms a strange headrush in and of itself. Your hand against his, combined with the curve of your belly, stoked ripples of masculine pride to life in his chest. On his other hand, the still-new weight of his ring settled noticeably on his third finger; his palm twitched against your side, as though the muscles in his hand had misfired oddly as he settled more into the headboard.

There was still so much for him (the both of you, really) to settle and score away before the more concrete future plans could begin to hatch outside of his otherwise brilliant mind; however, the present seemed to bring nothing but some odd sense of exhaustion to his bones and a spike of irritation that he might have to be more forthcoming with you than he had first planned. 

Nosy spirits be damned. 

"Silly girl," Alastor murmured, although the last syllable of his words was warped by the yawn that fell from his lips. For a man who normally thrived just fine off of little to no sleep, he was oddly drained. "I'm not going anywhere, promise.”

Your vision was blurred from the onslaught of tears that still remained prevalent in your eyes. Still, you couldn’t help the sniffle-laugh you produced at his words - you had meant the baby, considering what your dream had held in its contents, but Alastor being Alastor, it was undoubtedly very _him_ to think you would be talking about him. But plagued by sleep, you couldn’t really blame him either. Adrenaline could only help so much. 

You let out a shaky breath, bringing your hand that rested atop his to your eyes, rubbing away at the aftermath of an emotional state. 

“N-no more leaving.” Your voice cracked one last time as you fought to gain control of yourself once again, a phantom of a frown still prevalent on your lips. Your mind was already trying to work up _why_ you would have such a dream - you weren’t really a nightmare-haver, thankfully. But this felt so _vivid._ Almost like it was real. 

You couldn’t think of the reason for the odd language, but maybe it had to do with you having been scared of losing Alastor? Miscarriages were definitely a fear too, but it hadn’t been as worrisome as him disappearing off the radar. It didn’t really make sense - the voices, then saying that he wasn’t safe, and everything else. It made your brain hurt, and you found yourself stifling a yawn swiftly after he had finished his own.

You slowly moved to push off of him, that ache in your bladder just too much to handle and, considering your… delicate situation, it made it that much more intense.

“Um, be right back.” Hopping off of the bed, you pulled a throw blanket that you had stolen from the couch to offer extra warmth over your bodies through the night. 

Needless to say, it didn’t take you long to walk down the hall and freshen yourself back up in the bathroom. 

But upon realizing what time it was when you did return to the hallway, dim with the light of a lamp, and peered up at the grandfather clock - _tick, tick, ticking away -_ you felt a shiver run up your spine. 

3:15AM.

Licking your lips, you pressed on, holding the blanket around your shoulders once more before you finally reached out for the knob of Alastor’s bedroom door and returned to the safety of it. 

“I don’t think I can sleep…” you yawned despite that, amusingly enough. Moving over towards the end of his bed, you picked up your underwear and let the blanket fall from your shoulders onto the heap of the other blankets on the bed. Slipping them on, you kicked your other clothes appropriately away and moved towards his closet to steal one of his shirts. 

Standing on your tip-toes, you snagged a bland button-up which looked to be five-times your size and, sliding it out of the hanger, was able to put it on over your _head._ His clothing was comfortable as it was comforting, and it still had his scent on it. Rubbing your eyes again, you turned to him. 

“I want some milk.” 

Warm milk sounded so good. God. You would kill someone for some warm milk. It was a ritual you and Ruth did whenever you couldn’t sleep, and now plagued with anxiety, you wanted nothing more than some milk. But still, it wasn’t your house, so you couldn’t just go get some milk. 

Perhaps understanding that your request was a bit odd at three in the morning, you managed to offer him a small, tired smile.

“Can I please have some milk?” 

Yes, you were begging your fiancé for some milk. 

No, you weren’t going to stop. 

Alastor blinked owlishly at you from where he had remained to lounge on his bed. For a moment he looked heartbreakingly _vulnerable_ , his gaze hazy as though he couldn’t quite bring you into focus. 

This - along with his tousled hair and the fact that he too was still undressed, his slim yet scarred chest on display under the soft light - made him look every bit the young man he truly was, compared to the often suffocating presence he projected; the sight did little to ease the knot of anxiety in your belly, but at the very least you were able to take another calming breath before pressing him further. 

“Please, Alastor?”

The use of his name seemed to shake the man back to reality; his eyes snapped to meet yours and you were greeted with the usual sharp and intelligent look that simmered in their dark depths. For some reason, the hairs on the back of your neck raised slightly, residuals of your dream perhaps, before you pushed past the odd feeling and offered him another small smile, hoping it might stir him. 

His lips pursed slightly before they twitched into his usual grin. One knuckle was raised to push his glasses a little further back up the bridge of his nose and then the man was up and off his feet with a speed you knew you’d only come to envy the bigger your bump grew. 

You watched openly, taking the time as always to eye his lanky form as he stood in front of his dresser and dressed. You once again had to marvel that, despite his outward appearance of being gangly and almost too thin, his true frame was wiry and well-muscled, his strength understated but evident in the way his body moved as he tugged on his slacks. 

It was your turn to give your head a shake, your hormone-addled brain easily caught up in various split trains of thought; one moment you were questioning Alastor’s every intention, and the next you were watching him button his shirt as though you were some naive, starry-eyed school girl simply because of the way the muscles in his shoulders rolled when he - 

_No. Focus._

You brought your eyes away from the man in question as your hand drifted to rest on the rise of your bump, as though to cement the reality of the continued existence of the baby growing there. You were brought out of your reserve, once again on the verge of spiralling as only you could, when Alastor’s hand caught your elbow and your body was pulled in his general direction. 

He caught you tenderly in his arms, now dressed fully in dark, finely pressed slacks and a button-up (his scars always covered) and touched his nose to yours; the action now so familiar you instantly pressed gently back, ghosting your mouth to his as he sighed your name. 

“Milk it is, darling,” Alastor murmured, eyes fluttering shut slightly as your lips once more pressed chastely to his. 

He wanted nothing more than to drag you back to the warmth of the bed and insist on more sleep, but the sight of you cocooned in his too-big shirt with large, doleful eyes was enough to stir his masculine ego to lead you out of his bedroom and into the dark hallway. 

Without pausing to light the way, the man led you forward with a steady and confident pace. If your focus had been sharper, you might have wondered at the fact that while your small feet made soft padding noises along the hardwood floor, the man in front of you was entirely silent as he moved. It didn’t take the pair of you long to reach the small kitchen, despite the way the hallway seemed to suddenly loom, pitch black and ominous when you peeked back over your shoulder before following Alastor in. 

Alastor dropped your hand with a soft squeeze before moving to light the small stove. He chose to light the oil lamp across the room too, a small thing nestled in a nook behind the eating area rather than flicking on the overhead electric - on the chance of hopefully not disturbing his mother so late - which cast the cozy space in a soft, warm glow. A stop at the ice chest had a bottle of milk in hand and he grabbed a small pot hanging from the beams over the stove before placing it on the lit stovetop. 

He turned then to rummage in the pantry before returning with a few jars of spices, one of which you recognized as cinnamon, which he took pinches of and tossed into the pot along with the milk. He left it to simmer and turned to face you, standing still in the main entrance and looking much too delicate given the struggles he knew the pair of you to still face. 

The man heaved a sigh and crossed his arms loosely over his chest, his legs mimicking the action slightly as he crossed them at the ankle and leaned back against the countertop. His mouth was set in a soft curve and the lines of his face were more defined as his tiredness shone through; however, behind his glasses, his dark eyes were keen as he looked at you. 

“Penny for your thoughts, sweetheart.” 

You pursed your lips in thought as you moved to seat yourself at the table. As your mind - very awake in comparison to Alastor’s considering the event had occurred - struggled to reign in actual thoughts rather than a jumble of questions and ideas. 

Despite the sound of the settling house and the ticking of the flame from the stove able to ground you, you couldn’t help but spiral down into a pit of no return. For some reason, your attention gravitated towards the pile of newspapers at the center of the table.

You already knew the contents, you had read their gruesome details over the weeks you had been separated from him. It was scarily ingenious to toss the victims into a river in order to remove fingerprints or traces - the murderer, whoever it was, was _smart._ They weren’t messy, but instead almost… thought out. Planned. 

New Orleans was a large place, but they were still your people, no matter how bad they truly were. 

Suddenly becoming aware of the fact that you were fixated on the papers, you blinked a few times and, just like that, the fog lifted and you managed to peel your eyes off of them. Pushing them away from you, suddenly overcome with the sensation of nausea, you swallowed thickly and turned your attention to leaning on the table with your elbow, your palm holding your head up. 

“Lots. Too much.” You finally admitted. Your mind had never been so _worried_ before and now? Now you were just a worry-wart. “You’ve… been reading these too?” There was still suspicion, sure, but who wouldn’t when your partner had a drawer full of knives that you just so happened to ignore naively.

The sound of the pot sizzling brought your attention out of the fog once again, and you looked up towards him for the first time since you sat down. “The milk is burning.” 

Alastor was staring past you, you could see now, his own sight trained on the newspapers with some of the same intensity as you had just previously had. An odd twitch came over his face at the sound of your voice and then within the span of a mere second, he blinked again and came to his own senses. 

He turned sharply to grab for the handle, his other hand moving to turn off the flame; the milk frothed in the pot but he gave it a soft swirl and deemed enough of the liquid had survived to still appease your sudden craving. He kept his back to you as he poured the contents into a small mug, and although his body language seemed at ease, you felt a small spike of irritation that he was once again refusing to meet you head-on.

“I have,” he said softly, after another moment’s pause. You watched as he sprinkled a little more of some spice on top to garnish (read: **stall** ). “We’ve been following along at work, darling. Why, it’s all the city can talk about, and that is, after all, a part of my job.”

Alastor finally brought you the mug, steam still rising off the top; the sweet and earthy smells of cinnamon, nutmeg and what you thought might be cardamom hit your senses and you couldn’t stop yourself from breathing in deeply as he handed the cup over. 

The man remained standing for a few seconds before he moved to settle himself in the other chair, another sigh slipping from his lips. Usually, he could keep his weariness well under wraps but the fatigue that had plagued him upon waking up still seemed to have settled deep into his very bones. Although the small chair was far from comfortable, Alastor could feel his body slouching more into the support it offered regardless as he stared rather blearily at you from his spot. 

Despite it, a small grin spread across his face before Alastor’s eyes darted back to the newspapers and then once again back to refocus on you. His tongue peeked out between his teeth as he wet his bottom lip, a hand coming up to brush his loose hair back off his forehead. 

“I’m sure New Orleans finest are on it, sweetheart.” His grin grew enough that his teeth were clearly visible. “Nothing for you to worry about.” 

_Nothing for you to worry about?_

You opened your mouth to say something along the lines of ‘but there’s a _murderer_ out there’ but managed to let the words die on your lips before they could leave. Your eyebrows furrowed minutely as your eyes fell from his gaze towards the papers again. Your right hand reached out to grab onto the handle of the mug, bringing it to your lips and letting the liquid wash down your throat. It was soothing enough to ground you. 

“But you must be worried, right?” Your voice permeated through the silence, soft, uncertain. You were naive, but you weren’t stupid. There was suspicion, but he managed to somehow ease those thoughts and red flags by each of his kisses and the amount of affection he bestowed upon you when you were lucky. 

Not to mention his god-awful silver-tongue.

“I mean, my family is. That’s why my father gave me that knife to protect myself. I _am_ worried, I have to be. It’s… not just me I’m protecting anymore.” 

And it had disappeared. 

“... I can’t find it.” 

While you never explicitly said that you thought it was him that had taken the knife, you let the words hang long enough for you to take another sip of the milk. 

The tension in the room had quickly grown to a near suffocating degree, and perhaps finally coming to terms that this specific subject wasn’t the best to have when you were both half-asleep, you put the glass of milk down and leaned back into the chair, pushing the papers away from you. 

Your attention fell towards your belly, the bump far more noticeable through the position you were in. You let your hand fall to it, your tongue coming to peek from your lips absent-mindedly as your hand traced the curve that hadn’t been there weeks before. A sense of protectiveness in a way that you hadn’t felt before manifested in your body, and you knew in the instant that you would do _anything_ to keep the babe safe. 

“How’s… how’s the ring feel?” You finally looked up to him for the first time since he had sat down, reaching over to grab the cup once again. 

Across from you, still slumped in his chair, Alastor met your eyes with a touch of coolness you hadn’t quite seen before, the sides of his grin twitching minutely; had your mind been a little less frazzled, you might have followed that particular train of thought a little more, but for now you settled on meeting his gaze with what you hoped was a look of openness. 

Unbeknownst to you, Alastor felt another flicker of irritation dim the otherwise steady sense of contentment that had come over him since your return hours earlier. Moreso, for the first time in many months, the swift change in emotion was directed at you; something the man hadn’t had to contend with since he had decided to keep you by his side rather than toss you in the Mississippi - 

Of course, you had noticed the knife missing, what with your natural curiosity and drive for answers; the man had taken it on a whim, at best, a leftover habit of his prowling wherein a small memento of his act was pocketed. From the man in the alleyway, it had been the simple package of cigarettes. From the notoriously salacious lawyer who liked them a little too young (Alastor had found him the week before now), it had been the small handkerchief he snatched from the victim’s front breast pocket.

From the swotty upper-class housewife who beat her washer-woman, the man had taken a small crystal figurine and a small bottle opener he swiped from her husband’s vanity as a last instance of spite as he left the offending dame in a spreading pool of her own blood. 

Your knife had been easy picking, considering how openly you had displayed it to him, and Alastor had taken it with hardly a second thought. 

In many ways, the small switchblade was useless in his mind, as what more did you and the little one need besides _him_ to protect you? It had proven much more useful in his hands, after all, helping him strike down those fanciful, pretentious folk who viewed his beloved city as nothing more than a cash flow of the downtrodden and hopeless to be exploited at whim. 

Alastor cleared his throat suddenly, brought back to the present moment from the dredges of his on-going mental trench by your second question, his gaze following you as you reached for your mug. 

The warning tone still sounded clear in his mind’s eyes; you were much too close to the truth of the whole matter and much too soon for his own liking. He had hoped to have welcomed the child before you found out, whether he believed you might stay with him out of familial obligation or by your own choice out of some twisted, naive affection you held for him, but now, the basics of his plans were being challenged and not just from one side it seemed. 

He touched the cool metal of the band on his finger, thumbnail tracing the curve of it at the same time as his dark, handsome eyes moved to trace over the curve of your belly. For now, the motion somewhat soothed the anger that had been simmering in his own gut, and for the sake of propriety, the man met your unvocalized call of a small truce and forwent calling attention to your thoughts on the murders.

Subconsciously flexing the hand in question on top of the table, Alastor spread his fingers wide before pausing and then reaching forward for you. As was typical, his palm laid facing upwards, waiting for your own fingers to interlace with his. 

“Just fine, darling.” His voice was soft, weighted by the tiredness that still reigned in his form despite his mind sharpening as the clock in the hallway ticked away the progression of the early morning. “I’ll make a call once daylight breaks-” he cast you a slight look, as though your habit of late night talks was less than desired. “And I’ll see to having that lovely finger of yours adorned properly, as it should be.” 

Despite the previous conversation topic, you couldn’t help but feel yourself melt slightly at his words. Paired with his deeper and raspier voice from the night, it did very little to ease the sudden desire to cling onto him and never let him go. God, your hormones were out of this _world._ Honestly. Sheesh. 

Therefore, you didn’t think twice to interlace your fingers with his own, the strain of the inner workings of his mind apparent through the grip he had on you. Instead, you lifted yourself off the chair and scooted it closer to him, the sound of the legs dragging across the floor causing you to wince slightly. Truth be told, you were happy to move on from such a gruesome topic. 

You just wanted to drink your milk and bathe in his presence. 

With your left hand, you grabbed the mug of the cup and brought it to your lips again, settling back into the seat and, with a soft sigh, you slouched slightly. In the silence, your mind finally became quiet, but to say your worry had resided would have been a stretch. How could you not worry? But, at the very least, you would try not to worry about the things you couldn’t fix.

You didn’t know the murderer, so you couldn’t get them to stop or report them to the police. 

But you could worry about your future, and as his words permeated through the fog of your mind, you began to wonder what your life could truly manifest itself to be years from now. He always seemed to pull you into a wonderland of different scenarios, ones that you couldn’t have dreamed your life would come to adopt as its own. You rolled your bottom lip between your teeth as you slowly returned your gaze back to his hand, your thumb absentmindedly stroking the closest knuckle you could.

“That day is getting closer,” you finally broke the silence. “Isn’t it?” It was a bit difficult to express such worries - giddiness and nervousness. While Alastor may have been two seconds from dozing off, your mind was now very much awake, unfortunately for him. _Being married, who would have thought?_

“It doesn’t seem real. I feel like I’m in a picture show.” You shook your head slightly and let out a laugh of slight disbelief. “Engaged, pregnant, trying to figure out what the hell I’m gonna do about Ruth and my dad because I’m pretty sure he’s still going. I don’t want to lose Ruth.” She had been the only one that you truly had a connection with; your father was great and all (in his own way), but he was never home. 

“Not to mention the rest of my family—“ _was very, very traditional._ You let the words die on your lips, a heavy whoosh of breath escaping them. That was something that made you hope they would never meet Alastor. A frown formed on your lips for a moment and you brought the cup to your lips for the umpteenth time. 

Lost in your thoughts, you were only drawn out of your reserve once Alastor had removed the cup from your hand, only to replace it with the pad of his thumb. He stroked your bottom lip as though admonishing you for the frown on your features, although his own face was set with some oddly drawn look as well, his smile soft yet strained. 

"We won't be able to hide the two of you much longer," he nodded shallowly at your lap, the soft swell of your tummy under _his_ shirt helping wake his body just enough so that he could shift closer to rest his other hand by your belly button. "We already have to be quiet about all this, sweetheart. Unnecessary risks should be avoided…" 

Alastor trailed off and you watched as warring thoughts and emotions filtered across his face, his apparent exhaustion aiding his sudden openness. You desperately wanted to urge him on, but the weight of his hand in yours helped you focus and bite your tongue. 

The dregs of milk in your mug had more emotional depth than he did, but he was trying. 

“As for your family…” the man hesitated, as though debating his next choice of words. A small tick had begun to make itself known in one of his temples, the flare of irritation back and spiking in his core; yet another obstacle to overcome and one that was going to be a source of conflict, he was sure. “Well, darling, I’m afraid your father will do as he has to. Your sister…”

Alastor trailed off yet again (had he ever been this stumped, you certainly couldn’t place a time) and this time he removed his hand from where it had been intertwined with yours; instead, his fingers moved to tap along the tabletop, a small moment of trying to appease the itch ( _urge)_ that was making itself known at the base of his skull. The hand on your belly, however, remained in place. There, he continued to rub small, soothing circles against the material of the shirt. 

When Alastor spoke finally, his voice was still raspy and low, but now there was an odd self-deprecatory tone that coloured his words. You hadn’t heard as such from him before and it made your stomach clench in a way that was entirely new. 

“You might find others make those choices for you, once they find out.” 

“... What, dude?” 

Your father already knew about the baby, along with Ruth, so what in God’s name was he talking about?

Perhaps it was just your tired mind trying to figure out a way to decrypt his cryptic words, but you honestly wanted to roll up a newspaper at times and whack him in the head with it until he could talk to you like a semi-normal human being. But he had his own struggles, and you did too. 

Thankfully him rubbing your belly caused such a thing to not occur. 

With a heavy breath, you finally began to realize that perhaps talking about such heavy topics wasn’t the best thing to do at three in the morning. His mind was like a steel shield which just so happened to go away for a split second at times and then return like nothing happened. You probably shouldn’t have been playing detective at the moment, anyways. Your tongue darted out from your lips and taking the mug again, you brought it to your mouth only to realize that it was empty. 

Oh.

His moping tone managed to pull at your heart strings, however, and moving to stand up, you walked with the mug to the sink and put it down after rinsing it out. Drying your hands, you turned back around and, finding that he was still staring ahead (what a weirdo), you snaked your arms over his shoulders to rest your chin on his left shoulder. He was so tall that you barely had to bend over to do such a thing. 

“We’re in this _together,_ Alastor.” You sighed after a long moment. If he was worried about something to do with the baby, because let’s face it, it was the only thing that made semi-sense to you at that moment, then you would do your best to appease his worries like he had for you so many times before. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, but if you’re worried that my family will come with pitchforks and torches after finding out the color of the baby, then _let them.”_ He and your immediate family were the only ones you really cared for, anyways. 

You tilted your head to press your lips to the space just below his ear. “And if that doesn’t ease you, then perhaps you should know that I really hope that he or she looks a lot like their daddy considering...” Now that you were thinking of it, his moping tone made you feel really guilty for some reason and you were finding yourself desperate to return him to his regular state. 

When in doubt, try inflating his ego.

You pressed another kiss to his earlobe then. 

“... How beautiful you are.” 

At the touch of your lips to his earlobe, Alastor flinched ever so slightly as his skin suddenly crawled over his lithe frame. 

Ever the smooth con artist, and despite the on-going battle against the pull to return to the comfort of his bed, the man covered the moment of weakness by lifting his hands to better wrap his hold around your forearms as you held him. It had been some time since his adverse reaction to physical touch had reared its head, especially when it came to you and the physical affection you gave so freely- 

He hummed lowly then, his thumb coming to stroke over the delicate bones of one of your wrists; his gaze was still slightly unfocused but the feel of his calloused hands against the soft, smooth skin you had to offer did as it always did, helping to break through the draw of the rabbit hole of his runaway thoughts. 

The urge to step out of his skin just to get away from any residual physical feelings also eased the longer you stayed pressed to his left side; a complete 180-degree turn from the previous moment, to be sure, but something the man found he was grateful for nonetheless. 

“You’re an odd dame, sweetheart,” he murmured to you then, his cheek unashamedly smooshed into yours. His voice was still dark and raspy, but a note of his usual good humour was present once again. 

Odd words in and of themselves, but it appeared to be the extent of Alastor’s ability to verbalize at the moment, as for the next few seconds he was all too content to merely have you slouch over him, his hands still maintaining the pattern he was tracing along your arms. 

You hesitated for that brief moment, but when he relaxed, you did as well. If he had so wished, he could have easily told you to move away or physically do it himself (although that would have undoubtedly made you upset, let’s face it). His touch-adversity had been something you struggled with, and for the briefest time you thought he had been over it. You supposed that was just you hoping, though. It wasn't unknown to you in that moment, necessarily something that a relationship could completely fix.

“Let’s go back to bed,” you said softly then, attempting to stifle a yawn. Finally, at long last, you were tired. 

Another low hum reached your ears; this time you stepped back to watch as Alastor finally stood to his full height, the man taking a moment to adjust the still pristine sleeves of his shirt (another nervous tick of his) before he conceded to turn and face you. 

His handsome features were still marred by an unfamiliar look, one you thought might have run a little deeper than just him being tired - although you refrained from pressing him. After all, the bags under his eyes were plenty noticeable and you felt another small stab of guilt for having dragged him along on your late-night whim. 

_Damn him._

“If you’re sated for the night, darling, yes… _please_.” The man flashed you a small smile, reminiscent of his usual charm, eyes crinkling behind the rims of his polished glasses. 

One of his hands came to rest at the small of your back and he gave you a gentle urge forward, alluring grin still on his lips; you felt your own lips part to smile back at him, once again all too willing caught up in his funny-sort of charm. The weird tension from before had disappeared, eased by your admission of continued loyalty and the ease of shared physical affection between you both as he guided you out of the kitchen and back into the dark hallway. 

You were far too wrapped up in your thoughts of Alastor’s warmth next to you and the comfort of the bed to notice, but behind you the small lamp flickered out on its own, snuffed out in the blink of an eye and casting the cozy space into near full darkness, minus what little moonlight bled through the curtains of the window; from the space of filtered light which reached just past the legs of the chair you had been sitting in, two monstrous eyes blinked into existence, endless and void despite the eerie, cold light they held in their depths.

However, unlike before as you and Alastor quietly moved back towards the safety and promised solitude of his room, the darkness of the hallway remained still and the shadows were empty. 


	18. First Impressions Are Important

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At long last, we’re introduced to another very important character to the story! 
> 
> warning(s): do I even have to say it anymore (sexual content), paranormal

When the two of you had inevitably passed back out, Alastor first and you following shortly after considering how beat you were from crying and how long it had been since you actually had a decent night sleep, it had undoubtedly been one that was relatively peaceful. How could you overthink what was already overthought? 

Unsurprisingly, it was really easy. 

The worries of the ongoing murders, the idea of you being pregnant (that was definitely still something to get used to and what it could mean for your future), thinking back on everything that had occurred, how every single decision you made caused you to end up right here in that exact moment. 

Where was your knife? What were you going to do with Ruth? What did Alastor mean? Was it even worth trying to pick apart his meanings or would you drive yourself insane trying to solve the impossible? These thoughts and more kept you up for a bit longer than it did him, but soon enough the security he gave you through his hold and the  _ tha-dum tha-dum  _ of his heartbeat lured you into a sense of safety that could be outmatched by no one. 

That being said, your dreams did not haunt you again. 

You did not awake in a state of panic, but instead one of annoyance - the brightness in the room seemed to be the reason, and having the incapability of rolling onto your stomach and smashing your face into pillow, you did the next best thing. 

You would have put your own arm over your eyes, but given the fact that you just couldn’t be damned, you briefly opened your eyes to reposition your body to half-lay on him (your own leg was on his lower stomach, truly it was the closest you’d be able to lay on your own). Then, you pressed your face to his neck (aka: the darkest spot you could get to, not only the warmest, but  _ also  _ because his quirks were really starting to be something that you were picking up on) in order to really hide yourself from the fact that you would need to wake up soon.

Eventually. 

Not now, though. 

Beneath you, solid and warm and very much still half asleep, Alastor slowly stirred, your soft breathing against the side of his neck bringing him back to consciousness. A hand came to run along the smooth skin of the leg you had draped across him, as though even still drowsy the man sought to constantly connect with you. Your thigh quivered, the muscle reacting instinctively, the feeling of his fingertips tracing up along your side until his hand reached the nape of your neck. 

His nimble fingers rubbed gentle patterns there, although his touch was leisurely and at times would begin to fade before the man seemed to gain a little more of his focus and his stroking would pick up the pace. Mixed with the light streaming in from his window and the cocoon of his quilt and his slim chest, it was all too tempting to simply remain cuddled up together and ignore the suffocating knowledge of the issues that lingered, hovering metaphorically over your heads. 

Given the odd, heavyweight to the conversation you two had engaged in only hours previously, Alastor didn’t think you would protest too much as he wrapped his other arm around your still mostly-trim waist to pull you even more flush to his side. Your smaller, soft body automatically curled inwards so you could better press your face to his neck, another soft sigh escaping you. 

You felt his head shift above you, the sharp angle to his jawline pressing to your cheek just enough to encourage you to shift just minutely enough that he could brush his lips down the bridge of your nose until he met with the skin of your cupid's-bow. However, rather than move to kiss you properly, Alastor simply smooshed his face to the crown of your head, the muscles in his shoulders relaxing once again as he settled into the new position again. 

“Bright,” Alastor murmured as a way of some morning greeting, his eyes still closed (although you couldn’t see from your position). His voice sounded stronger than it had the night before, even if he only spoke a single word; his oh-so-smooth tone once again gracing your ears. 

A grumble formed in your chest at his word, as if such a thing meant that you actually had to get up and face the brightness head on. To say your consciousness immediately came to you full force when his hand met the back of your neck would not be far from the truth, however your body was still struggling with the idea of waking up and thus, did nothing more than twitch at the sensation before relaxing again (after coming to realize that he wasn’t going to choke you to death). 

Needless to say, in those weeks apart where you were fueled by anger, you thought to choke him out too. But as you lay against him, you were suddenly reminded of all the reasons why you couldn’t do just that, and for that you were thankful. 

As much as you wanted to sleep the rest of the day away, a sharp intake of your own breath alerted you to the inevitable sensation that followed: a yawn. But past that, you did nothing more than to tuck your head as close as physically possible. 

“Dark now,” you murmured sleepily, the shadows provided by him doing nothing more than usher you back into a state of unconsciousness. Well, it was dark for you at least. You didn’t know about him. 

Alastor hummed, the vibration clear as you stayed pressed up against his chest, and the man only dared shift enough to alleviate some of the numbness in his joints before settling back in; your weight while light enough was oddly comforting against his form as some of the fog finally lifted from his mind. 

The man cracked one bleary eye, pupil constricting as he was hit with the full force of the sunlight that permeated the thin curtains of his window. Even as farsighted as he was without his glasses on, he was able to catch sight of the small clock he kept posted on his dresser. 

Nearly noon; not quite as late as he had feared but not wholly excusable either. 

Alastor shut his eye with a small sigh - another quirk that was bleeding through in his comfort with you, as small concessions of weakness never fell from his lips otherwise. The hand he had trailed to your neck now smoothed over the material of his very own shirt you still adorned until he could rest it between your shoulder blades. There, his pointer finger absentmindedly traced the same pattern he had previously traced over the skin that stretched over your growing womb. 

_ Protection. Safety. Immunity.  _

With your breathing evening out, hinting that you were slowly being claimed by sleep again - or perhaps, already had, the man still unable to clearly view your face - Alastor finally allowed his mind to begin to follow the various split strings his thoughts had fractured into since your sudden arrival back in his home. 

There was the obvious vein of how best to approach some of your naivety over the fact that while the two of you could scheme and plan your future in private, eventually it would become all too apparent; after all, you and the child couldn’t stay out of public forever (although some part of him felt compelled to try to hide you away) and while New Orleans was often a cornucopia of various cultures and kin (alike and unlike), there were still people who felt strongly about such asinine characteristics such as skin colour or creed. 

Even with being careful, eventually, someone would spot you out and about with a child that was bound to look like  _ him  _ and (with an uncharacteristic chill running down his spine to match the unbidden thought) Alastor knew you were woefully unprepared for what was to be faced. He knew you and your family were well-liked and known in the small community that had come to grow around you, especially since your mother’s passing, but you had the ingrained privilege of your skin colour on your side. 

How best to explain to a sweet white girl some of the horrors he had witnessed, even as a child? Or what his mother had faced, or to that extent, his parent’s own relationship - there were secrets buried there that had yet to be exposed to you, something that only seemed to help the small knot of anxiety flare in his gut. 

Moreso, how to explain the overwhelming sense of responsibility and  _ anger _ that simmered in his very bones at the knowledge of being only the second generation on his mother’s side to know supposed freedom? That while your family line had long been middle class, even though the turn of the century, his very grandparents had lived most of their adult life in slavery - and that even now, even as someone considered “free”, Alastor knew the pain of his ancestors would continue to ripple down through generations. 

Pain flared behind his eye-sockets, a physical warning against his whorling mind. 

The man blinked his eyes open in order to stare up at the ceiling above; your breathing was still soft, evidence that his ongoing mental anguish hadn’t disturbed you in any sense. He snuck a hand away from the side of your body and raised it to press the heel of his palm to his eyes, seeking to ease some of the tension that was blooming in his temples. With a spike irritation at his impending headache, Alastor sighed through his nose, although quickly his brilliant mind began to spiral again - 

As for a moment, his thoughts turned purely selfish, in which he suddenly pictured what his career might look like with a wife and child at home and more than enough responsibility already. 

Moreso, what might happen if the public found out about the pregnancy before the birth? It would alienate a large portion of his listeners to be sure, not to mention ruin what little small-time political and social connections he had made with more elite New Orleanians. His boss, while cut from a much more tolerant cloth than most, would likely have to cut the loss of an unreliable host and sell his time slot…

Alastor dropped his hand from his eyes with a small groan, before he caught himself and ducked his head as best as he could to ensure you were still peaceful and (more importantly at the moment) unconscious. Your breath washed warmly over the exposed skin of his throat, your features squished in a rather endearing way as you continued to doze against him. The hand that had been over his own face came to gently tuck a strand of hair behind your ear before he trailed his fingers back down over your shoulder to rest in the small of your back. 

It was only as his gaze passed over what little of the room he could actually bring into focus, did Alastor notice the pair of eyes peeking at him from the shadowy edge of his side table. His twin shadow lingered there, its form shimmering and yet never fully either solid or transparent. Its eyes were crinkled in mimicry of the man it served, ghastly wide mouth splitting as a grin washed over its otherwise nondescript features. 

“Rat bastard,” Alastor couldn’t help but grump at the creature, his own eyes narrowing in response; its form appeared to warble, undulating where it remained tucked mostly out of sight. 

Nonetheless, Alastor felt a little better for cursing it out, even though he was beginning to grow suspicious that something outside of his connection to the Other Side was around. Yet another possibility for him to mull over...

His sudden voice snapped you out of your doze quickly enough that your mouth twitched at the corners into a frown. So much so that when you stirred again, you brought your hand up and rather blindly (considering your eyes were still closed) felt for his face. When you did find it, you pressed your palm to his mouth in hopes to shut him up with a rather sleepy ‘ _ shhh’ _ . 

With your eyes still closed, you tilted your head up to press your lips to his neck before a small smile took over your expression. “Just get traps.” You whispered into his skin, far too comfortable to do much more than speak into him. “‘S okay…”

Because of  _ course  _ you would take him literally.

Alastor managed to purse his lips slightly, despite the fact that you had left your hand pressed lightly to his mouth in your drowsiness. 

He was getting  _ messy _ , it seemed of late, especially when you were around. Your calming and grounding presence was beginning to lend itself to quite a few small slip ups on his part; nothing too damning yet, he was sure, but concerning nonetheless. 

With a sigh, the man grabbed for your hand and eased it down to rest by your side. Even while dozing you sought to touch him, that same hand moving almost instantly to instead lay on the marred skin of his shoulder. 

Alastor stilled, the touch of your palm against some of his scarring causing the alarm bell from before to blare in his mind's eye. While a large, undeniable part of him yearned shamelessly for your affection at all times, your level of comfort in physical touch still jarred him occasionally; perhaps due in part to the weeks the two of you had spent apart. 

Within a silent beat, Alastor rather pathetically hoped you wouldn't part from him ever again. The knot in his gut churned heavily, whether because of the implication behind his fevered wish or at the actual thought of losing you, the man couldn't be sure. 

_ Both, _ supplied a small voice in his head. 

Tearing Alastor away from that specific train wreck of a thought, his shadow by the side table bloomed to life and caught his eye, unfurling and taking shape like some great plume of smoke. It had disappeared instantly the moment you had first shifted; now, the aforementioned "rat bastard" was back and giving Alastor a sharp, accusatory look - as best as a creature with no real face could give, anyway. 

For his part, Alastor (still pinned under your comfortable weight and therefore limited in range of motion) simply rolled his eyes at the thing before turning his head back to press his cheek to the top of your head again. 

He immediately sought to bury his nose in your sweet smelling hair, trying to get his thoughts to refocus. For a man so collected and who strived to live one step ahead of even the best of his counterparts, the effect you had on him was maddening. 

"Sweetheart," Alastor's voice was stilted from his usual crisp tone, his words muffled by the fact that the boob still had his face hidden away in your tresses. "Perhaps we should get up…" he trailed off, sounding less than thrilled with the thought himself. 

You found yourself grumbling lowly to yourself before you shook yourself out of your sleep-like reverie and finally blinked your eyes open. When you pulled your head back, you became aware of the fact that your hair was so bed-headed that when you ran your hand through it (after moving to sit up slightly), your fingers snagged through your locks. 

You winced. 

Bringing your hand back out, slowly, you let out a soft sigh and moved to rub your eyes instead. You must have twisted and turned all night when you had that nightmare. What a weird one. You were too tired though to debate on it further than that, so for  _ now  _ you would let it be.

Perhaps understanding that you probably put him through hell and back, you turned to face him with a bit of a silly, tired smile. 

“Good morning to you-“ you yawned for the third time, good god, “-too…” 

With a stretch, your arms above your head, you promptly fell back into him with an  _ ‘oof’ _ . It was something that you wouldn’t be able to do forever, considering your delicate situation, so if he thought you wouldn’t take advantage of the time you had, he had another thing coming for him.

You felt as much as heard Alastor’s resulting puff of air wheeze from his thin chest as you flopped atop him, although to his credit the man still managed to catch you in his arms, his hands immediately coming back to rest along the run of your spine. He was prone to squinting without his glasses and so you didn’t  _ fully _ take the narrow-eyed look he shot you to heart. 

“Afternoon actually, doll.” Alastor’s eyes jumped back to the small clock on his dresser top. Well past noon, and while in the past the very idea of wasting away the daylight hours in bed might have horrified the man, there was some easy-sense of compliance he couldn’t help but follow with your soft curves pressed so close to him. 

Speaking of curves; Alastor’s gaze jumped to your middle and felt a small note of worry bloom over the thought of your words the night before - 

_ “The baby was gone…” _ \- 

He couldn’t see the swell of your bump based on your position against him, and while the logical part of his mind knew he had only just cradled and touched the firm rise of your belly hours before, a sudden overwhelming flash of protectiveness washed over him. Now, coupled with the nagging suspicion there was more than just (well, frankly)  _ him _ to worry about, the first course of action would be to make sure you were healthy and able to handle the stress of what was coming…

It was only once his eyes had travelled back up the length of your frame to meet the open gaze on your face that the man realized he had openly spiralled into some deep thought process in front of you. Your wide, shining eyes did nothing but fan the flame of possessiveness stirring in his sternum. 

“Are you alright?” Alastor’s words were so gentle and subdued that even he paused for a moment the second they fell from his lips, his eyes widening slightly at the implications behind such a tone. 

“Yes, my hair is just a mess.” You couldn’t help the giggle that escaped you - particularly because for one reason or another, you had found yourself in a rather playful mood. Perhaps it was because you were elated at the idea that the previous night hadn’t been some sort of fever dream, that, in fact, it had been a reality and he was  _ here  _ and—

His tone of voice and such innuendos that could have followed were too much for your mind at such an early (it wasn’t even early) hour and because of such, you strived to reposition yourself in his iron-like grip and lean your head forward in an attempt to push your nose into his. With such a close connection, and how rare they had been before, you were unwilling to part from him so easily as you would have perhaps in the past.

And then, like some lightbulb going on in your mind, you blinked up to him (although it was a bit difficult considering the lack of distance between the two of you). 

“Is your bath big enough to fit two people?”

Alastor blinked back at you, his dark eyes rather wide considering the strain on his optic-nerves with your face pressed so closely to his. There was a moment of disorientation that ran through his mind, your constant change in moods something he undeniably still needed time to adjust to, and given that your pregnancy was still in its earlier stages, the man knew deep down that such troubles were only just beginning. 

His hands moved to smooth over the planes of your shoulder blades, the action now so ingrained in his repertoire that even at the first sign of his own growing emotional distress, the man sought connection with you. Alastor had, by all accounts, fully expected you to wake up and desire to continue the conversation the pair of you had had so late in his mother’s kitchen- 

It was only the feeling of your lips brushing against his as you continued to smash your faces together (had either one of you ever truly learned about personal space?), that drew his mind to the full possibilities of what your sudden turn of fancy could lend to him. 

“Plenty big enough, sweetheart.” Alastor’s mouth twitched upwards into his usual self-satisfied smirk. He may not have been able to soothe his churning thoughts through talking with you, but the chance to ease his discomfort through physical touch was more than enough of a draw. 

Your smile immediately brightened, your face moving away from his to peer down at him (because somehow in the midst of two minutes, you had monkey-climbed him and now sat on his stomach) with a rather excited expression. When you were little you hated bath time, but now? God, it sounded so nice. 

“Really!?” Your voice cracked slightly from the lack of use, before you winced slightly at your own volume. “Y-you would really consider  _ bathing  _ with me?” It was such an intimate thing, a vulnerability that he was apparently willing to give to you that wasn’t inherently sexual. It was  _ simple,  _ and in this world of complicated things, you would take simplicity any day. 

Your hands found his shoulders to help you remain positioned atop him, and when you did manage to take in the view, your excitement tapered out into an emotion of awe. 

_ If this baby didn’t look like him, you swore to God- _

With his large hands now resting on your hips, Alastor was able to properly return your smile, his own stretching across his features in a way he only seemed capable of doing. Admittedly, without the aid of his glasses still, you were slightly blurry, your mop-top of bedhead tresses only adding to the overall muddled effect. Still, the note of excitement in your voice and the feel of your body against his only ever seemed to stir his need to surrender to your whims, especially of late. 

Had the poor boy been slightly more in tune with his own emotions, he might have realized the growing connection between his feelings of  _ guilt _ and your place in his life, but for now his hands simply gave your sides an encouraging squeeze.

“We’ve wasted this much daylight, doll…” Alastor gave you a wink, his words trailing off before he shifted slightly so that he could ease you back enough that he might sit up. 

Every time you heard his voice, you got butterflies, and to have his hands on you, his  _ presence  _ near you, you couldn’t help but come to terms with the fact that he was the most addictive drug. 

In the span of time that you had been away from him, you had discovered that he inhabited your mind from dusk to dawn. In a rather silly position, it was even more amusing that you were coming to understand that you couldn’t— _ wouldn’t— _ live without him. How odd it was that such a short time ago you would have probably pushed him off a bridge yourself if he took you sight-seeing on one. 

Because let’s face it, he had once gone out of his way just to rile you up and piss you off.  _ Entertainment, shentertainment.  _

“You’ve convinced me,” you laughed a single note, before coming to peel yourself off him in a maneuverability that you wouldn’t possess in the coming weeks. “And I didn’t hear a  _ no,  _ so that’s a yes in my book!” You slipped off of the bed, completely ignoring the fact that your feet were sudden freezing from the uncarpeted flooring. You weren’t sure where this energy came from, but you were going to roll with it. 

Because lately, you had been battling with your own exhaustion from the pregnancy. 

Alastor expelled a puff of air, although you weren’t sure if it was in exasperation or not at your antics, before pushing his lanky frame up and off the bed. He stood to his full height and then some as he moved up on his tiptoes to stretch, his upper half bare and a pair of pyjama pants slung low on his hips. You had convinced him to forgo his usual pyjama set with the promise of your soft skin nestled next to him throughout the night. 

Now, as he moved before you, you sent a silent thought of thanks out to the powers that be that your fiance was so delicious, despite what the usual fit of his clothing might dictate against his lanky form. 

Alastor’s arms moved up above his head next as he stretched to unkink the soreness that had settled in his spine; your eyes swept hungrily along the exposed length of his torso as he limbered up, unable to help yourself as usual when it came to your gawking at the man. 

Unlike you, it seemed the weariness that had sunk into his very bone marrow the evening before was here to stay for the time being. It would seem that the prospect of a warm bath wasn’t completely amiss; likewise, the chance to run his hands along the smooth expanse of your changing form was still too much of an opportunity for Alastor to pass up. 

“You seem to have a knack for removing ‘no’ from my vocabulary, darling.” The man purred to you as he passed by to grab a charcoal grey house-robe from the back of his door, the material fluffy and suspiciously new looking, as though the man had rarely lounged in it. 

Nevertheless, Alastor slid it over his shoulders and turned back to face you and brought his left hand up, fingers splayed as an invitation for you to lace your fingers between his. You hummed lowly, giving him a close look so as to better call him out on that notion before acquiescing and reaching your own hand forward to let it fall into his hold. 

You mused at this rate it wouldn't be long before you learned the layout of the Beauchamp home; even with Alastor leading you as he always did, you found your feet easily moving towards the quaint bathroom. 

The small room was tidy and as nondescript as it always was. The furnishings were sparse but clean and cared for; the main draw, however, was the large claw foot tub set in the furthest corner. The bathtub itself was nothing extraordinary, outside of it’s extended size and depth; it’s porcelain was whole but tarnished looking and the plumbing was suspiciously ancient looking (and that was saying something, given the present year). A lacey curtain was pulled and pinned to one side, offering privacy as needed. You figured its place was the reason you had missed just how large the tub was. 

You watched as Alastor moved to start the water, his closed fist thumping the lead piping once, twice and then a third time before the water pressure seemed to kick in and water jetted out of the taps. Peering around him as he set the plug and adjusted the water temperature, you saw he was right in that there would be plenty of room, if not more. 

“Almost, sweetheart,” Alastor murmured, his gentle voice betraying his lingering tiredness before he turned away from you to rummage in the nearby vanity. 

The soft tinkling of glasses being moved told you the man was obviously searching for something in particular. You leaned over the porcelain edge of the tub, content to swirl your fingertip in the rising water; it was near perfect temperature because of course, the bastard would also be uncommonly good at such a banal thing as drawing a bath. 

Across the small space, Alastor had finally managed to find the small bottle of rose water his mother had stashed; he was eyeing the vial of the lemongrass oil and wondering if the scents might clash when two eyes appeared seamlessly out of the darkness, empty and yet  _ burning _ . They blinked at Alastor, who merely stared back a moment before returning to his task. 

Within a beat of time, a small bottle smelling faintly of the jasmine it contained rolled forward from the back of the uppermost shelf, where it stopped seemingly on its own before it could roll completely off the thin lip of the vanity’s edge. With an impatient click of his tongue (as if nosy spirits were a mere inconvenience more than anything), Alastor snatched it up and returned to occupy the space next to you. 

Soon, plumes of heavily perfumed mist cloaked the air, the mirror above the sink now fogged over. You couldn’t stop the small giggle that escaped you when you watched as Alastor finally gave up and removed his foggy glasses, placing them on the sink countertop. He squinted through the thicker air before he caught the amused look on your countenance and returned your grin with one of his own. 

There was a second pause, this one a rather sweet, innocent awkwardness that passed between the pair of you; as if the prospect of suddenly undressing in front of each other for such common means was much more daunting than anything sensual you had shared before. Alastor shifted on his feet, his hesitation and inexperience showing in his moment of fidgeting, and waved an airy hand as though hoping to distract you from this particular aspect of his character. 

“Is that to your particular liking,  _ cher _ ?” he drawled to you, a smirk spreading across his face to complete the act. 

The amusement never died on your face, however your eyes  _ did  _ manage to soften and your pupils dilated with an astounding amount of affection towards the man when you stepped forward—originally being rooted to the spot and left to look over his shoulder—and took in a deep breath. Somehow, some way, it smelled like home, and your mind was left to ponder on the imaginative sights of wild flowers and running through a meadow. 

“Yes, silly.” You finally managed, a soft giggle escaping you as you stepped forward to stand before him. For thanks, you stood on your tippy-toes and managed to press your lips in a very chaste kiss to his chin, before returning to your original height and position. However, your hands were constantly  _ touchy  _ as was your entire persona (and most likely always would be a stark contrast to his own), so when they pressed to his clothed stomach and you moved forward again, you peered up to him with genuine hesitance. 

Baths weren’t intimate places usually, but you had a hunch that his and your nerves combined would make this process a very, very long one.

“It’s okay,” you cooed. “I know it’s new for you, we can take it slow.” 

_ You were trying to understand.  _

Alastor hummed low in his throat, his dark eyes alluring even through the mist hanging in the air; you were learning the sound came to signify the change in his level of anxiety more than anything else. Your hands were steady in their place against his chest, and you were rewarded after a moment of hesitation on his part by his hands coming to wrap around your middle. 

The man pulled you in closer so that you fell flush to his form, or rather as flush as you could given the dynamics between your different heights, and pressed forward so that he could press his nose to yours. 

“You make it…” Alastor’s breath puffed across your face as he trailed off, his lack of experience in terms of emotional transparency the real reason behind his apparent lack of words. “ _ Easier _ , sweetheart, somehow…” he finished rather lamely; some of his own distress at the whirlwind of emotionally charged thoughts he had been labouring under were now clear in the lines of his face. 

As if he were suddenly struck by how sentimental and, well, rather foolish he had sounded in that moment, Alastor made a strange keening sound (although to be fair, he was a very strange individual) before moving to rectify the whole situation by ghosting his lips against yours. One hand came to rest at the small of your back, while the other ran the length of your spine until Alastor could cup your left cheek, the thumb of that hand stroking the soft skin under your eye. 

Ever moving along the raging tide of ebbing emotions, the man began peppering your face with small, closed-mouth kisses as a way of acting against such confusing feelings. 

_ When in doubt, distract. _

With every kiss he offered you, every thought and worry was pushed away and erased from memory, your eyes fluttering closed as your amusement dissipated and you were instead filled with the sensation of sentiment and affection. 

You would have been content to simply bathe in his presence, his desire to distract you from reality if you hadn’t found yourself suddenly rather flustered about it all. 

The two of you had found yourselves in situations that society would have shunned you for, less than accepted from an unmarried pair, but that didn’t change the fact that when it came to things such as these, where you were showing vulnerability, you had even less experience than he did. He still had a few years on you, and even if you had been his first for…  _ everything,  _ he was yours, too. 

Generally your moments of carnal activity were fueled by high emotions and attempting to settle aggression through such means. But you couldn’t really remember a time in the handful that the two of you shared where you had been completely sober. The first had been through anxiety and getting wrapped up in the idea of what could happen, the second was the fight, all of them being nursed to life by wayward emotions and adrenaline. 

But you were very much present in this moment, you felt more  _ here  _ than you had for the past few weeks, and it was strange because you couldn’t blame it on a good night’s sleep. Nevertheless, the heat and steam filling the room warmed your body and aided in your internal secret emotions being revealed, so you were particularly eager to get into the bath and be covered again, even though you were still completely clothed. 

Tilting your head to press your nose to the space of his own, you breathed in his own breath before your hands trailed down to the tie around his waist, pausing momentarily to open your eyes just barely to catch his gaze through your eyelashes.

“May I?”

The man gave a short huff, although you instinctively knew it was another form of nerves rather than an act of irritation; despite the strange tension that hung between the two of you, his body language was still surprisingly lax against you, his arms cocooning your middle with gentle ease borne from familiarity now. 

Alastor peered down at you, an impressive feat given your face still smooshed to his as your hands fiddled nervously against the knot of the house-robes belt. It would be all too easy for him to let you simply move forward with your outward desires, the man more than happily willing to shed his clothing in order to once again feel your skin against his. 

This thought was terrifying on its own, but it came at such unbidden speed to his mind, Alastor did nothing more than balk at your words slightly, his lanky form stuck halfway between its fight and flight response (arguably, full-tilt  _ dumbass _ ). 

Not so long ago, his body and the scars and marks he carried on his skin were things he had never dared to show or share with anyone before, not purposely anyway. They were nothing more than constant reminders of the uphill climb he was faced with daily, often garnering him nothing more than pitiful looks or contemplative sneers (depending on the company) and so Alastor sought to keep them hidden. 

So far, it was a practice that had served him well both professionally and personally; until you had come along, bringing with you a knowledge of the comfort and affection offered by physical touch. 

Now, knowing that your softness and changing curves (an act caused by  _ him _ , his ego supplied) were on offer were more than enough for the man to shake himself from his brief reserve. You watched with mild amusement as some of his normal keenness returned to his dark eyes as Alastor refocused his attention fully on you. 

_ Breaking News; Local Man Feels One Emotion! More At Six!  _

Ever greedy when it came to you, Alastor stole a quick, chaste kiss from your lips before his own curled into his customary grin, “Go ahead, darling.” 

Your attention soon fell to your hands, bowing your head in order to see properly (although to be fair, your blush and smile betrayed you and showed him that you were still very much affected) as you hooked your fingers into the tie and undid it. You couldn’t exactly help yourself in your attempt to remain as unimpressed as you could. It just didn’t work like that, and with him, you doubted you would ever get used to his body. 

Each scar held a story that was wholly unknown to you, and as your hands roamed up the planes of his stomach and chest again, feeling the soft quiver of muscle there that truly deceived his inner struggle, you brought your head closer before your lips brushed upon each spot that was revealed to you as you gingerly began to slip his robe off of his shoulders. 

“Are you ever going to tell me the stories of these scars?” You whispered into his flesh, before moving to trail your hands down his sides and with it, your body sinking down to the floor in a kneeling position as your fingers looped in his waistband. Here, however, you paused, your mouth pressing daintily to his hip bone and down towards the path of a place that was all  _ yours.  _

Damn, where did this possessiveness come from? 

Alastor’s eyes were mere slits now as he watched you from your position before him. It made his cock twitch behind the cover of his pyjama pants he still wore, although his thin hips jerked ever so slightly forward at the touch of your mouth against one hip bone. It was an odd sensation coupled with the emotional flare of panic that bloomed in his sternum at your words. 

The man knew eventually he would owe you more of his own personal history, and although his childhood was full of painful memories, Alastor had to admit that he had had a fair better upbringing than others in his community. Maggie had seen to that, something he was ever grateful for, and likewise vowed to provide for his own child. 

“One day,” Alastor murmured as his left hand moved to cup your face once again, thumb brushing over the curve of your cheekbone. “I’m afraid those stories are just as ugly as the marks.” 

His dark eyes travelled over your face with such close scrutiny you briefly wondered if the oddball was doing his best to memorize the lines and shape of your features. His thumb moved over the top of your cupid’s bow before tracing along your bottom lip; his forefinger joined his thumb so he was able to very gently tug your bottom lip before he moved to grab your chin and tilt your head up so to better meet your gaze. 

“Especially in light of your beauty…” 

Unknown to the pair of you still wrapped up in your intimate moment, the shadowy creature from the vanity cabinet had slithered out. It rolled its void-like eyes at Alastor’s sappy words before a long, wispy tendril slowly floated across the tiled floor until it could reach the tap. With a small creak of the pipes, the running water (long since forgotten by the still occupied humans in the room) stopped.

A giggle left you mouth as your lips contorted in a genuinely amused smile; you appreciated compliments, but it wasn’t often that you received them - so much so that it often left you feeling rather flustered when you were least expecting it. His gaze was often so mesmerizing that you easily could drown within their depths far more easily than with the liquid that steamed only a few feet away from the two of you. 

That being said, you didn’t notice the squeak of the knobs being shut off. 

“Says you,” you leaned your head closer to him, pressing your cheek to the palm of his hand rather endearingly. “I amount to nothing remotely close in your presence, sir…” you breathed out, lips dusting the flesh against the inside of his hand. In your mind it was the truth - you were just an average southern girl who just so happened to be carrying an up and coming radio host’s baby. 

It hurt knowing that none of this would have occurred if you hadn’t gotten knocked up. 

Probably.

With that said, your fingers tugged on his pants with a bit more persistence. The thought of getting in the bath and pampering yourselves gradually became overwhelmingly  _ needed,  _ and as the moment continued on, you escaped his hold on your chin and continued to pepper kisses down his hips and as more of his skin became visible. Slowly, you moved down, lips brushing at the base of his most intimate place, before moving to press your lips to his thigh until the rest of his clothes were in a heap on the floor that he would simply need to step out of. 

Alastor drew his long legs out of from the pile of his rumpled slacks; your attention had him at half-mast, but even as stunted as he was when it came to more emotional means, the man could sense the newfound sense of familiarity and modesty that hung in the atmosphere between the two of you now. 

Regardless of the fact that he was the only one currently undressed (although, admittedly, his shirt, while large on you, was far from the proper dress), the moment was far from the usual high-charge one you typically shared. 

It made an odd combination of possessive satisfaction edged by a sense of disquiet bloom in Alastor’s core, something he suddenly wanted to soothe through no other means than the feel of you up against him. 

“As pretty as you are on your knees, darling,” This time, Alastor’s large hands wrapped around the creases of your elbows and the man helped you stand to your feet, his eyes sweeping over the row of buttons that denied him the ability to gaze more openly on your skin. “Our bath awaits us.” 

He shot you a wink before he returned your gesture, dropping gently to his knees in front of you. With his height, it brought him to the right level that he could reach out and be able to pop buttons from their place. One long pointer finger tapped against the first button, just as Alastor’s dark eyes darted back up to meet your face openly. 

“May I?” The man parroted your earlier words back to you, an old nervous habit apparently coming back in light of everything. 

The sight of him before you, kneeling on the ground, brought a sense of humbleness to your being. It wasn’t often that you saw him so… vulnerable, and as the moment continued on, the trust that he gave you was astronomical in Alastor-terms. As you felt his fingers brush across the button, you hesitated to bring your hand up, but once you did, you settled to root it through the locks of his hair. He honestly had so much that it made you jealous. 

And it didn’t even outwardly look like he did! 

Nevertheless, you brought your head to his and pressed your lips to his forehead, perhaps unable to give him a dose of affection within the span of a few seconds. 

“You may.”

Alastor’s eyes had fluttered closed at the first touch of your fingers in his hair and he was unable to hide the pleased sigh that escaped him at the whisper of your lips against his forehead. Had he been of the right mind (although, arguably, had he  _ ever _ ) the man might have mused that it seemed to have taken you an extraordinarily short amount of time to overcome his more pronounced vices - namely, allowing you to touch his face and head so freely and easily as you did.

Now, however, as your nails scratched across his scalp, he couldn’t deny it felt rather  _ nice _ . 

Therefore, it took a moment for your words to filter in through the haze that had seemed to settle over his mind the more your affection was laid upon him. Whereas you were beginning to feel restless, drawn to motion by the odd sense of energy that had come over you, Alastor wondered briefly if you would allow him a short catnap following all of this. 

His eyes blinked open, the man’s gaze turning sharp once again just as soon as he was able to focus on you. It had been a bit harder this time, like drawing himself up from deep undercurrent, to bring his mind back from the edge; he focused on the feeling of the tile beneath his bare knees, suddenly acutely aware of the chill that had come over his skin, his darker flesh pebbling with goosebumps that seemed at odds with the warmth and steam in the air. 

The man pressed his face to your form then, seeking to steal some of the warmth that he might leech from you. His hands ran up the sides of your bare legs before Alastor reached for the topmost button; with each button popped, the man pressed soft-mouthed kisses to the patches of your skin he could reach. 

Alastor paused just as his nose came to rest below the dip of your belly button, his eyes bright even through the fog. He crooned your name to you then, before moving to pick up his peppering of affection along the length of your form, until at last, he had freed the last button. He stood to his full height and helped slide his shirt over your shoulders; it fluttered to the ground, landing in a heap next to the clothing he had shed. 

Stirred to action by the almost  _ burning _ urge surging in his chest, Alastor stepped close enough to you that he could pull you in and, with little warning other than the flash of his smirk on his face, he caught you up in his arms; one hand buried itself in your hair to hold you close as his mouth moved to softly cover yours, while his other hand fell to the small of your back and pressed, angling your spine so that  _ finally _ he was gifted with the feeling of you against his skin. 

As though noting the pair of you were otherwise distracted again, one smokey tendril formed and flowed from underneath the tub, until it caught up the discarded shirt you had been wearing. Moving more like a rolling fog across the bayou than something solid, the creature buried itself in the dark cocoon offered by the piled clothing. 

You failed to notice it. 

Instead, like all the times it made a grand appearance, you were coincidentally too caught up in Alastor’s presence to do much other than to fall down that rabbit hole of no return. 

Your arms had wound around his shoulders and limply laid there, perhaps caught off guard by the sudden kiss (because how many times was it that  _ he  _ approached you for simple things such as kisses?) before they regained motive and began to toy with the thinner hairs at the back of his skull. Although, to be fair, with how lovely his body was pressed against yours, it would have undoubtedly been a lie if you said you weren’t  _ mildly  _ turned on right now. 

Honestly, he was so unfair. 

Pressing your lips to his again, and again, you finally pulled back enough to suck in some air. “You’re making this incredibly difficult, Mr. Beauchamp.” Your breath wooshed past your teeth as a grin lit up your features. “I don’t think prepping for a bath should take this long-“ you tilted your face up to Eskimo-kiss his nose, “-but I can’t say that I don’t like it.”

Alastor greedily pressed his mouth against yours, even as the last word fell from your lips. He hummed in response, his arms only getting a little tighter around your midsection (simple possessiveness to you maybe, but to the man, the feel of the slight curve of your belly to his only brought the thought of  _ more _ to mind), his mouth vibrating slightly due to the chaste nature of the kiss. 

You giggled, unable to keep the mortifyingly girly sound from escaping you. Of all the ridiculous charms to get caught up in, Alator’s seemed to be never ending. 

Spurred to action perhaps by that very sound, however, Alastor merely brushed his lips against yours again before hoisting you firmly in his arms. Your legs instantly wrapped around his slim waist, seeking to add a little more support to the sudden change in your position with gravity. 

“Perhaps you’re right, soon-to-be Mrs. Beauchamp,” Alastor cooed to you, his nose naturally coming to rest against yours again. “Hang tight, darling.” 

With his strong arms still supporting you, although your own arms did instinctively tighten around his neck more when he first jostled you upwards, Alastor moved the two of you to the edge of the tub. 

With a gentleness that still managed to surprise you given how intimately aware of the cruel side of some of his tendencies you were (although the depths of those waters were still unknown to you), the man lowered you first into the water before he shifted and somehow folded his long, lithe form in behind you. 

You stilled as the water touched your body, the warmth such a sudden change that goosebumps shrouded your flesh. Showers were something you were common with, but you couldn’t remember the last time you had an actual bath. You helped Ruth with hers ever since your mother passed, but now you were finding yourself rather, well,  _ relaxed  _ with it all. 

And being relaxed was a rarity in and of itself.

Settling yourself between his legs, you leaned back and rested your head against his chest. A soft sigh escaped your lips as you took in a deep breath, the steam clearing your sinuses and the warmth adding another layer to your peace. It helped knowing that the warm body behind you was that of your lover. 

“Feels nice…” you whispered softly, before allowing your hands to lift from the water and fall to his arms, luring them into the depths and to the comfortable place you wanted them most: your belly. “Secure, safe,” you continued on, tilting your head to the side to nuzzle into his upper arm. Your heart thrummed in your chest in a steady beat, although the more that you were against him, the more you grew  _ warmer.  _

All the words you said were direct opposites of what your dream had portrayed; and somewhere, deep inside, you knew that they had been right - but that part was veiled from your own naive hope.

Alastor mumbled something that sounded akin to an agreement, his words muffled due to the fact that he had resumed pressing his nose to the crown of your head. It meant his head was angled oddly given your position tucked up against his chest, but between the warmth of the water and your body, not to mention the undeniable feel of your slightly swollen tummy under his palms, the man had no qualms as to his current place. 

In fact, the severe tiredness from before seemed to have been stirred by the comfort of the situation. Alastor hid his face more just as a slow yawn overtook him; he shook it off by rubbing his face like some overgrown, affectionate beast against your (admittedly now puffed up from humidity) hair. Below, his hands ceased their rubbing and instead he moved to trace patterns into the skin around and below your bellybutton with a solitary finger. 

Realizing he was on the verge of that aforementioned cat nap, Alastor rather pathetically pulled himself away from the refuge of your tresses, shifting to instead press his cheek to the plane of your crown. 

His other free hand lifted from the water and the man moved to trail his fingertips up with the length of one of your arms until he reached your shoulder joint; there, his fingers danced over the curve of your shoulder and along the length of your clavicle. The water droplets he left in his wake along your skin were warm but cooled quickly enough to bring goosebumps to the surface of your flesh. 

“S’good,  _ cher _ ...” Alastor practically slurred, his accent thick. Adding to the overall effect, the man gave another small yawn, which you felt more than anything as his body contracted and then relaxed once again under you. 

_ Was he seriously about to fall asleep on you?  _

You murmured his name softly, although as you felt his weight increase on you and beneath you, you shifted to better accommodate it and brought your hand to grasp at the bottle of shampoo that… wasn’t there before. Huh. Odd. He must have grabbed it right as he set you down, because to a girl’s mind who had yet to come face to face with the true paranormal, it made the most sense and had the ability to keep your sanity stable.

At the very least, one of you had to be. 

Still though, as you popped open the lid and squirted a bit into your hand, you leaned off and him and somehow managed to turn until you straddled his waist beneath the water. Unfortunately your movements caused the water to splash around and now your hair and his hair were both at the very least damp.

Good place to start, you supposed. 

With a gentle puff of air to his face to perhaps center his attention on you once more, you brought your hand up and, after getting it wet enough, began to root your hands through his hair (gently, of course).

“I like this,” you started, moving to press your lips to his forehead in a chaste kiss, although your mouth lingered. “Having you close to me while the rest of the world moves on,” you whispered, your nails scratching at his scalp a bit to cause the suds to continue to grow. “I like knowing that I am the only one that gets to see you like this. For you to trust me like this.”

Your mouth continued to pepper down his cheek as your hands fell from his head, to his shoulders, trailing the soap down further. Leaning away, you moved back in only to press your nose to his own, your lips faintly hovering over his. 

“I love knowing that I’m yours and you’re mine.” 

Alastor was watching you closely with half-lidded eyes. Although you could still clearly see the sleepiness on his face, his dark eyes glittered with his usual brightness. His hands had settled in on the dip of your hips when you shifted atop him, his fingers curling against your skin as much as he dared to, unable to keep himself it seemed from seeking the softness he knew to be found there. 

_ "Éternité,"  _ Alastor all but crooned to you, hands squeezing a bit more firmly in that moment, as if to sell his point. "There is nothing in creation that could come between us now, sweetheart." 

He moved so his lips brushed more firmly to yours, his sudden state of being so affectionate a little off par for him but more than welcome as you found yourself relaxing further in his arms. 

Only to feel him suddenly stiffen, his body seeming to lengthen as he lifted himself slightly upwards, dislodging you from your comfort. You settled back on his legs more and took in the grimace of pain on his features, realizing just as he spoke - 

"- except perhaps this shampoo in my eye, darling, could you help rinse?" Alastor gave you a half smile, one eye now slightly cracked while he winced. 

It stood to reason that not everything would turn out to be a steamy - it was still steamy considering the temperature - fuckfest. Instead, as you washed the soap out of his eye with a washrag, you couldn’t help but let your mind wander to the finer things in life. How would the two of you figure out parenthood? Surely there were other new-time parents around, but it was still incredibly scary considering…  _ everything.  _

To be fair, you couldn’t really see Alastor as a father. He was far too caught up in his own world to really understand what you went through in terms of the pregnancy, and what was it with him just up and disappearing? It felt incredibly lonely at times, and for the briefest of moments you longed to have your mother around again for some guidance. What would she say to all of this? 

Probably that he was a no-good scoundrel or a brute. 

She had been a stern mother, but a loving and caring one. She cared for you and Ruth with a ferocity of a mother bear. At least she gave you something to try to copy, well, in your own way. In some ways she reminded you of Maggie; perhaps that was why you had clung to her so easily. Plus, the woman gave you the man that sat before you, and as infuriating as he was, he was  _ yours _ now. 

And every time you had begun to lose faith in him, he showed up again, and you fell for him all over  _ again.  _ It was a vicious cycle, not entirely healthy, but it was one that you adored. What did that say about you, exactly? You weren’t sure or rather, you didn’t care enough to find out those complexities that lay further within. Who better to root through the mess that was yourself than the biggest mess-maker of all? 

You pressed your nose to his once more, the soaked boy in front of you matching your equally drenched (but half-clean) exterior

“I think I finally tamed the beast.”

In record time the two of you had gotten your hair washed (although his took longer with all that gel, good lord) but what remained was the washing of your bodies. The most intimate part of it all, considering the fact that you very rarely were able to see him bare and vulnerable. Moving your hand to grasp the body wash, you put a dollop of soap into the rag and smoothly set it on his chest. 

A clean scar here, a clean scar there…

How many did this man have!? 

With your tongue peeking out from behind your teeth in your focus, you finally broke from your own building curiosity. 

“Ugh, come on! Can you  _ please  _ tell me  _ one  _ story?” You sounded like Ruth, which was whiplash in and of itself. “You can’t keep a girl waiting forever, Al, just one story, just  _ one  _ tiny…” you pressed your hand to a tiny scar, “... story.” You peeked up at him from behind your lashes for that extra effect. 

Something passed over Alastor’s face, an emotion you weren’t familiar with yourself and therefore unable to name, but regardless the man suddenly looked more alert at the prospect of your question. His eyes dropped to where your hand was still pressed to the small, thin yet clean looking scar that sat just to the side of where his fourth and fifth rib laid under his skin. 

Alastor’s mouth gave a slight twitch, as though threatening to curl into a smirk, but he seemed to catch himself and moved to lay his own hand over yours. 

_ You truly were a  _ **_sweet_ ** _ little thing… _

“That, darling, I got after getting caught up in chicken wire,” the man grinned fully then, unable to hide his glee at fucking with you; despite your intimate and undoubtedly emotional ties now, he was a man with a particular sense of humour, and he had never guaranteed that you were safe from his odd brand of goading at times. 

The fact that the story was absolutely, fully truthful only added to it all. As did the rather bratty frown that had come over your face. You were always particularly  _ adorable _ the more wound up you were. 

“Seriously?” you deadpanned, brows crinkled and hand dropping lamely from its place on his side.

Alastor hummed, his smirk bleeding into shit-eating territory as your lips drooped downwards into a slight pout. 

“I had stolen a pie from the neighbours across the way and misjudged the jump to clear our fence…” the man trailed off with an anticlimactic shrug, although it was at odds with the grin stretching his mouth. 

You blinked. The damn fool didn’t even like pie or sweet things, as far as you had gathered from your time spent together, so the thought of him getting stuck in the side by wayward wire simply based on karma brought something of a grin to your own face. 

“Well, that uh, doesn’t count,” you established, shifting slightly in his lap so you could begin trailing one of your fingers over a few of his other scars (his own hands readjusted to the tops of your thighs under the water). “And since I’m pregnant and clearly get to make all the rules ~” you sang, your eyes flashing up to meet his, making sure you could convey as best as you could you were joking. 

“I get to pick one more.” you tapped the end of his nose for good measure, before quickly leaning forward and pressing another kiss to his lips. 

This time, you lingered in your connection to him for a moment, again hoping to instill in him more of the strangely elated emotional high you were riding. Although, if anything, with his hair still wet and unkempt and the visible wariness in his form, Alastor looked like nothing more than a grumpy, drowned rat when you pulled back to face him again. 

“This one?” you traced your finger over a larger, more jagged looking one that spanned the length of his right pectoral before it curved inward towards his sternum. It wasn’t the worst looking one he sported (you weren’t so cruel as to demand that), but it certainly looked as though it had more to the story behind it than just some clumsy, young boy causing shit. 

Alastor’s eyes dropped again to fall to the place where your pointer was resting. The corners of his grin dropped slightly and he breathed in deeply through his nose before his hand came once again to lay upon yours. He laced his fingers through yours as best as he could, so that your palm was open and laying against the raised flesh of the scar. 

“That,” Alator said quietly, his brow furrowing despite his best efforts to keep some semblance of a smile on his face. “I was gifted by a couple of gowed-up bluenosers,” his mouth twitched dangerously again, his fingers tensing slightly in their hold within the spaces of your own. 

“Some dame in town had been complaining of some joe harassing her,” Alastor’s voice was soft, at odds with the almost casual choice of his words. “They never did find  _ who _ , but a few of the fellas found  _ me _ and well,” he sighed, the hand over the one on his chest dropping suddenly, seeking to squeeze the soft skin of your hip as though a subconscious seeking of comfort. 

“They realized I was the wrong…” he trailed off, perhaps to let the less than savoury term undoubtedly used against him by such men hang in the air. “Not that it stopped them, ‘course. Left me with that and took a half from my pocket for all their trouble.” 

Alastor raised his gaze to meet yours through the heated mist still hanging in the air, his eyes dark, his look so  _ absent _ that you almost recoiled slightly just out of pure instinct. 

“I was fourteen,” he murmured finally, his eyes still locked on yours. “I was gangly but tall, I’m sure I looked older…” 

There was a small beat in which the atmosphere was suddenly cloaked in heavy silence. 

“Oh.” you finally broke the silence, perhaps a bit dumbly.

Your voice was suddenly a lot more quiet than it had been a moment ago, your playfulness becoming subdued the more you came to realize that your son or daughter probably wouldn’t have the similar upbringing that you had, where folks could traverse past your lawn and you could say hello to them; instead, would they ignore him or her or would they sneer? The thought made anger blossom from within you, a surge of maternal protection that hadn’t been there before. 

If anyone ever hurt your child, you would do unto them twenty times over. 

Quietly, you began to wipe the rag down his chest with your free hand, the other tightening in his grip in order to anchor him to the  _ now  _ and not the past.

“What they did shouldn’t have been done,” you continued on. “But it has and now you live with the reminder of it-“ your eyes met his for a moment in your sincerity before you leaned closer to lock your nose beside his, your hand dropping the rag into the water to instead press it onto the big scar. “Although, to be fair… I can’t see anyone sporting scars as well as you do, Alastor. I’m actually rather jealous.” A wink to pair it off, although it was awkward given the close proximity. 

You weren’t jealous, by the way, but it wasn’t hard to boost his ego back up. 

Alastor’s eyes swept over your face, half-lidded again while you continued to stroke against his skin with the rag, the man more than happy to accept any and all of your affection.

Part of him knew your good humour in the situation was partly your own naivety- you could say you understood, but until you experienced (or watched your child do so) it was something he, most irritatingly, could not verbalize to you. Another part of him, stirred to the surface by the soothing water lapping about the two of you and the feel of you perched in his lap, couldn’t help but delight in the continued presence of your silliness. 

He gave some great, overdramatic sigh and brought his hands to smooth up the length of your spine and then back down again to rest on your hips. He watched you closely for a moment, his lips tugging upwards into a soft smile. 

“Fear not, sweetheart,” Alastor cooed, his tone sugary sweet yet overly-affected. His lips curled a little too suspiciously into what looked like a smirk once again. “It’s not all tales of misery and woe! This little dandy here-” he lifted his grip from your sides to raise his left elbow, showing you a particularly smooth yet small scar that looked to sit right in the crook of his elbow, the skin a raised medallion. 

You leaned back just enough to be able to look at his face a little easier, the strain on your lower back noticeable even with such a small change to your body having happened so far. 

“-is from riding my bicycle backwards. I hit a rock and, well, when I went down something on the damned thing stuck me. Maggie cursed me out for bleeding on her freshly washed floors…"

"That seems a bit harsh," you frowned, as the Maggie you had come to know and grow fond of in such a short period of time was sweeter than just about anyone you knew. "How old were you?" 

Alastor blinked, suddenly looking much less charming as he had and much more the sodden boy he was. 

"Twenty-six…" 

It was your turn to blink. The boob was nearing twenty-nine after all! You continued to stare at him, your eyebrows furrowing before lifting in your shock when you discovered that he was very much not making it up. There was a deep breath taken, and then you burst out into laughter, a series of giggles escaping you in tandem to your shaking body in your amusement. 

“Y-you  _ what!?”  _ You had thought he would have been a teenager or younger to do such a thing, not a grown  _ adult!  _ Suddenly the thought of Maggie being angry made so much more sense and you knew instantly if you had been there, you probably would have gotten mad, too. “You were,” you couldn’t breathe from your laughter, and so you steadied yourself by resting your hand on his shoulder, the other still secure in his grip. 

“I mean, only three years ago- why? I-”

You let out a few more giggles before moving to rest your forehead against his. Each time you managed to calm yourself down, looking at him again made you crack up. But finally, after what seemed like forever (of him moping) you took in a sweet, deep breath, and firmly planted a kiss to the tip of his nose, your grin never anything less than genuine. “You’re quite the silly egg…” 

Alastor, in the depths of his on-going man-child moping, simply watched as you tried your best to compose yourself, his dark eyes watching you closely but with their usual spark glittering in their depths nonetheless. 

“Darling, if only you knew,” the man drawled, lips quirking to one side much too charmingly in light of his chosen words. “Although that may lend itself to comment on the sanity of the dame sitting in said egg’s lap.” 

You rolled your eyes at his slightly clipped tone, your ears immediately recognizing the pitch and rise of the particular form of dialect he used when speaking on air. You shifted your hips to resettle yourself, your thighs brushing briefly with the tops of his before you stilled again. 

“Said dame is also pregnant with that egg’s baby,” you cooed, although your grin betrayed your strange sense of giddiness at your moment of shared teasing, and lifted a hand to play with the damp hairs at the nape of his neck. “Sanity left a long time ago.” 

“Hmm, yes,” Alastor hummed dramatically, his eyes crinkling in his amusement - both at your own ability to keep pace with his humour and, strangely, the odd rush of adrenaline that was surging his veins at the very thought of how  _ close _ to the matter of it all you were. 

The thought that it was your emotional attachment and (as so far) unwavering loyalty to him that kept you so willingly in the dark, that you should be so near to the truth of some of the fears that had been haunting you but kept at bay by your self-imposed disregard for the  **_signs_ ** , was too palatable for Alastor to ignore.

And perhaps, even all the more so rich, the delicious irony that the man behind the violent headlines you had been reading was the very one holding you, skin to skin, in his arms. If he was the proverbial wolf in sheep’s clothing, you were a fitting Little Red.

“One of many poor life choices you’ve made, poor dear,” Alastor simpered to you, raising his hands to cup your cheeks so that your lips puckered in the now all-too-familiar fish aesthetic. He squashed his nose to yours, breath puffing over your face softly as he peered down at you (a little awkward given the lack of space) with his beguiling eyes. 

“Ivf daht so?” Your voice was muffled from the position you found yourself in, and if you hadn’t been holding onto him for balance, you probably (most certainly) would have crossed your arms in defiance. Your decisions were  _ good  _ decisions! Maybe they weren’t the best, but they were  _ good.  _ Hmph. As if he hadn’t been the one to knock on your door at the witching hour and request your assistance upon nearly breaking his leg!

“Not my fault…” you huffed out, the close proximity reminding you that much more of how much he was out of your league, how easily he could unwind your bravado and replace it with an avid sense of desire and uncertainty when he was this close to you. 

Your gaze fell to his lips, a silence falling over you before you snapped out of it at the sound of something hitting the floor. Your hand instinctively clenched tighter - which just so happened to be at the back of his head - before you tilted your head slightly to peer at what it was (although he still managed to have you puckering your lips with that stupid grip of his).

A bottle of liquid soap had fallen off the side, although, just as you managed to clarify that was what it had been, you could have sworn you saw the shadow of it move in a way that it shouldn’t have. 

You chalked it up to your imagination. 

Behind you, Alastor caught the sight of the downed bottle and, at the same time that you noticed, he saw the shimmer and wave in its shadowy form; unlike your dismissive attitude, the man felt an instant spike of irritation again. 

It was becoming clear that something other than the creatures sent to help aid him by his Loa was sniffing around, and he had a hunch it had to do with you and, perhaps, the babe in your belly. 

The wave of fierce protectiveness ( _ possessiveness _ ) that blazed abruptly to life in his center flared, so much so, that he heard the  _ rush _ of energy against his eardrums, the sound deafening. His skin tingled, suddenly feeling tight over the frame of his body; as though, down deep, something much more bestial was slumbering, aching to have room to stretch. 

Alastor’s vision swam next, his first warning of the impending tunnel vision that accompanied such violent shifts in his mood - 

It was only the fact that his hand was still clasping your face, his fingers twitching against your cheeks and the soft sound of protest you gave, that brought him crashing back to this plane of reality. Immediately Alastor dropped his grip, moving then to wrap his arms around you and pull you flush to his chest. Once he had you settled as he liked, his fingers moved back to grasp your chin, much more gently than before. 

“Sorry sweetheart,” he murmured, for once sounding as though he meant it; his eyes were still a little unfocused but given your close proximity, that might have been easily explainable. 

Of course, given your position you were unaware of the mass of unfurling shadowy tendrils that had bloomed to life from under the far vanity. The sound of your discomfort from the pinch of Alastor’s grip before had agitated the creature enough that it openly made its presence known to the  _ threat _ that remained in the room. Void-like eyes, much larger than before and burning in their intensity, remained locked on Alastor (the man returned the stare, skin bristling). 

Under your weight, Alastor’s form gave an odd sort of twitch, as though his whole frame itched to dispel some pesky sensation. Within the same second, his eyes flicked back to meet yours as he sought to press his nose to the tip of your own just as you felt one hand, now wet from where he had rested it in the water against your side, cup the spot at the juncture of your jawline and neck. 

“Where were we?” the man purred, voice rich and smooth now that the odd moment of tension had passed. 

In the second it took for a burst of giddy butterflies to swirl in your tummy, Alastor easily tilted your head up so that he could finally ghost his lips against yours. As soon as he felt the press of your lips as you moved to return his affection, the man greedily deepened the kiss, his tongue sweeping your mouth as though he meant to steal your breath for real. 

And that it did. 

For a brief second, your brain practically short-circuited from the sudden burst of physical affection from the man (although he always put you through a tizzy - this time wasn’t much different), a sharp breath that was taken in that happened to be your only response other than the moment that you began to truly fall into the buzz of his concoction of ambrosia. Your body, which had already started to adopt a red hue from the warmth of the water, grew even more pigmented along your cheeks. 

Perhaps overcome with the subject of  _ him,  _ you shifted yourself closer, accepting of his desires as your chest completely rested against his own, and the bump of your stomach upon his own; a curve of your spine needed to allow such a connection. Your arms moved in the next moment to wind around his neck and shoulders to crush yourself as close as possible, the sudden change in position causing the lower half of your body (the most intimate parts still concealed by the water) to become visible.

But just as you were about to fall deeper into his personal brand of drunkenness, the sound of something connecting with the man in front of you caused the two of you to pull away from each other harshly. 

“Dammit, no!” Alastor snapped, his head recoiling back from yours and the hand that had been at your face was now cupping his own forehead, obscuring his left eyebrow from view. Given the watery eye accompanying his yelp of pain (and, to you, an odd choice of words), it seemed he had been  _ hit _ with something, although you couldn’t see anything from your seat in his lap. 

You blinked in the silence that followed his outburst, as your pulse thundered in your ears a bit as you came down from your moment of surprise. Behind you, unseen by both of you, the shadow had billowed out from its hiding spot near the mirror and now blinked in tandem with you in your own mounting confusion.

Had it had a discernible face, it might have even been considered rather cute. 

As Alastor finally managed to clear his vision enough to zero in on his focus, he spotted the small bottle of liquid soap you had used before laying across the floor where it certainly had not been before, and immediately found the deep, soulless eyes of the shadow staring brazenly at him from its perch now on the side of the sink. 

It unfurled and curled in on itself, looking like a wispy, spectral Ouroboros, the challenge in its presence obvious even though it openly risked the chance of you seeing it. That was, however, until a small breeze seemed to blow through the small space (although no window was open), and the shadowy mist cleared instantly. 

In its place, a larger plume of smoke formed as if from nothing, its spectral face warping and coiling until it came to display a similar visage to the man sitting in the bath. Alastor’s twin shadow ducked back, tucking and folding itself in like a housecat before it settled in the dimness cast under the legs of the small cabinet in the corner. 

The grin it shot its Master was just as self-satisfied as anything Alastor had ever worn on his face. 

The man in question watched as, in the same moment, his discarded slacks shifted again and a smaller, paler pair of depthless eyes winked into existence. Regardless of the  **big bully** now present in the room, the smaller shade managed to throw off a rather disgruntled aura all the same. 

And while all of this was far from irregular (the spirits were notoriously competitive in who they sought to contact), at least to the man involved, it was with a sinking gut that Alastor returned his eyes to you, only to be met with your wide, staring gaze and an unreadable look on your face. 

While you hadn’t seen exactly what had occurred, thanks in part mostly due to your position against his body which had your back to the rest of the room, you had watched with rising horrific curiosity as Alastor’s eyes had scanned the area behind you before darting back to yours. 

Not because you were necessarily unsure of  _ what _ had just happened; no, it was the look in his eyes, something unfamiliar yet intense, that made you lean back enough to take more of him in. While you were still somewhat caught up in the spell of his charms and the physical attention he had only just so recently lavished upon you, his oddness was undeniable at times. 

“Alright, sweetheart?” Alastor cooed, his voice surprising you slightly as though you hadn’t expected him to talk (the intense edge to his gaze lingered). 

As if he hadn’t just been apparently mugged over the head.

“Am I alright?” Your voice sounded further away than normal, like it was on an old radio rather than coming from yourself. 

You gawked up at him in a stunned nature, before you blinked out of your haze and moved to grasp the bottle in your hand. It hadn’t been an accidental slip, no, and unless the supposed mice grew macho arms, you doubted they could throw things with such aim and ferocity. That being said, with a rather inspective look, you set the bottle in a place where you could  _ watch  _ it. 

After that was said and done, you reached up to delicately peel his hand from his forehead. When you saw a small bump forming and slight discoloration, you instead laced your fingers into his hand and placed a feather-light kiss to the injury. Sitting yourself back down into the water (that was now quickly becoming lukewarm), you leaned down to press a series of kisses down the bridge of his nose. 

“Oddball, I’m not the one that got hit. Are  _ you  _ okay?”

Alastor bestowed you a similarly searching look, his eyes washing over your features before he carefully drew in a breath through his nose. He truly was beginning to slip more and more.

“Just dandy, darling!” His cheery tone was at odds with the peculiar pensive look in his gaze, but the familiar airy lilt to his words had your cheeks lifting with a faint smile of your own, regardless of the absurd situation that had just passed.

“Riiiight…” you trailed your earnest eyes over his face once more, before shifting a bit to alleviate some of the dull aches that were beginning to settle in your thighs and calves from their extended position straddled atop Alastor’s lean body.

“Perhaps we’ve overstayed the use of the bath anyway, sweetheart,” Alastor murmured, moving a hand to stir the tepid water, causing tiny ripples to break against the curve of your hip.

A quirked eyebrow and an impish smirk had been the only warning you got before the man flicked water at your face; the size of his hand directly relating to the faceful of bath water you received.

_ Oh, he didn’t! _

“Ah!” 

With a gasp, you sat before him, your previous clean and damp hair now soaked once again to the very root as you brought your hand up and, with a scooping motion, splashed water straight back at him with an equally playful look. 

You stuck your tongue out at him with a raspberry before you used him as an edge and helped yourself stand up by placing your hands atop his shoulders. At this position, rivaled against such a bean pole of a man, he was face to face with your lower belly. For a moment you stood there, dripping from the water that still clung to your form, until a breeze (except there were no windows in here) reminded you that you were without cover. 

With one last glance at him - as if promising that you would get him back for it later - you stepped out of the tub and wrapped yourself in the towel that had been laid out upon the ledge of the sink. However, as you peered at yourself in the mirror, you couldn’t help but wonder if the reason your stomach was as visible as it was (it was still relatively small, but you shouldn’t have been showing as much as you were, right?) was because of your short stature or… something else entirely. 

You only snapped out of it when you saw Alastor’s form move behind you, and, when the other towel was snatched next to you, you managed to voice your thoughts:

“What was that thing you said last night?”  _ You had said lots of things.  _ You met his gaze in the reflection. “About Maggie taking a look? Do…” You hesitated and let your eyes fall to the bump again, your eyebrows furrowing together in concentration. “You don’t think there’s anything  _ wrong,  _ do you?”

Alastor remained standing behind you, his eyes locked on your reflected face in the mirror as you continued to evaluate your form. 

After a moment of examining your features, his own gaze dropped to the place where your hands rested protectively over the small curve to your belly. He felt a responding spark of protectiveness yet again, causing him to step eagerly closer and wrap his arms around your middle, his head dropping to your shoulder (he had to angle his lanky form in order to do so). 

“I’m certain everything is fine, doll,” he cooed in your ear, his warm breath washing over the exposed side of your neck. “You never mind what I said, I’m not as experienced in these matters as my dear mother.”

Alastor’s hand moved to gently rub the curve of your bump, thumb brushing the dip of your belly button even through the cotton towel you had wrapped around you. His other hand was still circled around your waist, and Alastor cinched you in tighter to his chest just as he began dropping light kisses to the top of your shoulder. 

Despite the wariness slinking back into his bones, the man couldn’t help but pepper you with affection as though he was earnestly seeking to assuage the roaring of the possessive fire that blossomed in his sternum. And, perhaps on some level, actively dismissing your main concerns; mostly, because he himself had yet to figure out the best path forward, thanks in part to rubbernecking spirits. 

“I’m glad we have her…” you trailed off, before blinking out of your reverie as he continued on with his kisses; the action alone was enough to cause you to smile softly and rest one hand over his own. You missed your mother dearly, and each day you buried your emotions under the knowledge that you had to be strong for your family. It was difficult but… 

_ A new family - how wonderful and terrifying at the same time.  _

“My own taught me the basics, y’know like… what to expect. That stuff. She never told me why they call it morning sickness when it can happen at  _ any  _ point through the day.” Your nose scrunched up. You wondered when you would have it again, because with how it was going, it was inevitable. “I don’t think I know much more than you do.” You squeezed his hand before leaning your head back into his chest with a defeated sigh.

It was all very exhausting and taxing on your body and mind.

Maybe it would just be a super baby. Considering Alastor’s height, was that out of the question? You didn’t know. But suddenly all at once the thought of pushing said super baby out of you was draining. You were not looking forward to it. As you watched his expression, you noted just how  _ exhausted  _ he looked. Cue the guilt. Reaching up with the hand that had rested on his own, you pressed your palm to his cheek. 

“Do you wanna go back to sleep for a little?”

Alastor leaned his cheek into your palm, the arm around your waist tightening briefly before his muscles ran lax again. 

Had he possessed the brainpower at that given time, the man might have thought longer on whether it was just his exhaustion that had him so openly seeking your touch or something much less superficial; however, as his eyes finally journeyed up to meet your gaze in the mirror, Alastor couldn’t deny the slight shock that overcame him at finally seeing the deep, dark bags under his eyes and the tight, drawn lines of his face. 

“Perhaps I’ve spent a little too much time buried in my work lately,” he muttered against the comfort of your hand and moved his face just enough to be able to hide at least a small portion of one eye and half his nose there. “I feel like a dead man walking.” 

There was a bite to his tone, as though the man was on the other side of some inside joke. 

Not entirely off the mark, either, given the rising chorus of disembodied voices beginning to ring in his ears. With his utter lack of energy and the newfound shadowy  **addition** still lingering in the room, Alastor was torn between making sure you and the little one were safe and tucked away somewhere, and the alluring siren-song idea of his bed. 

“Come with me,” the words slipped from his mouth before he could stop them; in typical Alastor fashion, it was a statement more than a proper question. 

The idea of sleeping again seemed to bore you, however, and the idea of possibly having a nightmare again pushed you farther from that brink of just giving into him. Turning around, you reached up on your tippy-toes, and pressed a kiss to the tip of his nose, where it remained half-obscured from your hand’s position. 

“Maybe in a little bit,” you murmured. “I’m not really tired, and your mother and I have things to talk about-“ Lots and lots of things. Mostly concerning the pregnancy but to do with him as well. “Like uh,  _ girly  _ things.” There was a beat of silence.

Another.

And then, like a light bulb that went off in your mind, your eyes became hooded. If he was going to fight you on it, because knowing Alastor he most likely would, then you would have to force him to pass out.

“But if that doesn’t convince you…” your hand fell from holding your towel up and instead brought it to press against his chest, moving it down only to tug gingerly on his own towel that was wrapped neatly around his waist. Your gaze faltered from his, your other hand which had previously been on his cheek following your other one until it hooked opposite to where your left was. 

“Maybe you can give me an idea as to what will.” You beamed up at him, a faint blush giving away the fact that you knew very well what you were getting yourself into. 

Alastor’s acute gaze focused in on you then, his eyes narrowed slightly as though mildly suspicious of your abrupt change in mood. Certainly that, and not because just past the sightline of your right ear, he could see the smaller shadow curling its unearthly form over the edge of the sink basin.

Not to mention, a certain other shade lazing around under the warmth of the water pipes like some overfed hog, with little care to who may glimpse it.

The spike of irritation that ran down his spine at that moment was all Alastor needed to shake himself from his quickly derailing thoughts and refocus, yet again, on you. The moment that followed seemed to cement his habit of repeating some odd mimicry of your own experiences; his very own ‘ **_ding_ ** ’ of inspiration in which time his fuddled brain caught up to the fact that you were sweetly pressed against him and very naked. 

You were wearing a rather pretty blush on your cheeks, your teeth peeking through your shy grin as you peered up at him with bright eyes. All at once, Alastor felt some abrupt, painful tug behind the breastplate of his chest, and he sucked in an instinctual breath before he moved resolutely to surge his lips against yours.

“You’ll be the death of me,  _ cher _ ,” Alastor’s tone made his words sound like a warning whispered hotly against your mouth, although you were pleased to hear his voice warble slightly as a note of his excitement broke through. “And we did just get all spiffed up…” he trailed off, sounding less convincing than he ever had before.

“Are you gonna say no?” You pressed yourself closer, your voice softening in its volume - you knew how to play this game, and the poor boy in front of you was far too invested in the moment to see that you just wanted him to get the fuck to sleep so you could snoop around and gossip with his mom. 

You couldn’t remember the last time you had a girl talk - you had friends, but you rarely saw them, especially of late. Their interests just… didn’t apply to you. Well, they hadn’t, but now that you were living in the reality that they would probably battle over, you couldn’t help but feel rather  _ smug.  _

That being said, you ghosted your lips over his before moving to press a series of kisses down his jaw, neck, to which you whispered into the flesh of his sternum: 

“You already know my mouth can already clean it up…” Continuing down, you set a path down his damp chest and abdomen, before moving to set yourself on your knees. “And didn’t you tell me I looked pretty on my knees, daddy?” You practically purred; but beyond that, you didn’t move to touch him - you respected his… well, whatever he had going on, and no meant no. 

Alastor crooned your name, his pupils expanding even more in the dim lighting as he took in the sight you had on offer. You were perched on your knees, your shoulders relaxed and back, and your head held high with an alluring smile on your face; the man had to swallow hard, reflexively shifting against the headily rising sense of  _ want _ in his core, before he could speak to you properly. 

“Darling,” Alastor practically sang the word, and despite the fact that you had other motives behind your methods, you couldn’t deny the small thrill that raced over you as goosebumps broke across your skin. “I thought I warned you about teasing a man like me.”

The glint in his eye hinted that he was far from unhappy with you and the turn of events, however, and after a moment’s pause he reached out to entwine a hand in your tresses. He took delight, it seemed, in taking the time to massage his fingertips against your scalp, making sure his blunt nails did not catch on any lingering tangles or knots. It was only when he finally pulled his hand away, did Alastor give you a playful tug on one strand. 

“Well, go on and convince me, sweetheart.” 

_ Challenge accepted.  _

Although, the sudden idea of being put on the spotlight did not appeal to you as much as it did for him, and while he talked out his anxieties by rambling (which made him a particularly excellent radio host), you bit down on your sudden hesitance and met said challenge head on.

Lacing your fingers into the edges of the towel that was wrapped around his waist, you pulled down and were greeted with the sight of a lifetime; one that you doubted would ever fail to steal your breath away. Your tongue came out briefly to swipe at your lips as you turned your focus on pressing chaste kisses to his left hip bone, your eyes fluttering shut as your breath became more faint in sound, your lips navigating down his leg before dipping down to his thigh with a faux experience.

But you were learning, just like him, as you went along. 

“Yes,” you sighed softly into the warmth of his flesh.  _ But when will your warnings have a spine to them? What happens then?  _ You decided not to voice those thoughts for obvious reasons, but as you were faced with moments like these, where it was just the two of you, you couldn’t feel anything less than  _ safe.  _ And you found that when the unknown stared back at you, you liked to stare back. God, you were such a lost cause. What the hell.

You shouldn’t have loved him. He was selfish, egotistical, and a major prick at times but here you were, and in his eyes, you wouldn’t have been surprised if he saw himself on a throne and you on your knees before him. But you did. You loved him, and it killed you not being able to say it, to not hear him say it. But you weren’t responsible for his self-made obstacles, and while he infuriated you and didn’t make a lick of sense at the worst of times, you still came back to him, you were still  _ there  _ for him.

Sure, you were attracted to the man that stood before you, but you had a hard time trying to figure out whether or not he would come to understand that love was so much more than infatuation. 

During the raid of your thoughts, you had continued to pepper kisses to the sensitive area around his groin, your hot breath and the idea spurred by his imagination doing wonders to keep him stimulated enough for you to manage to make him semi-erect. It was more than enough, and with the mental preparation that you would most likely gag on him and to breathe through your nostrils so you didn’t suffocate by his cock, you opened your mouth and led his tip to the flat of your tongue. 

Imagine that.  _ Death by Dick (and no, not you, Richard, or Moby).  _

What a way to go out.

The first deft touch of your warm, wet tongue against the leaking tip of his length had Alastor sucking in another deep breath (you could leave his lungs  _ wheezing _ , struggling to keep pace with your wants unlike anyone else he had met), his hands bunching at his sides as he tried his best not to just lunge and wrap his fingers back into the strands of your still-damp hair. The breath he had taken came whistling past his grit teeth just as you changed the angle of your jaw a little more, moving to bring him deeper into your mouth.

Your name fell from his lips, the sound breathy and strained; you could feel his cock hardening under the administrations of your tongue and lips. Your hands came to rest on the tops of his thighs, your fingers able to brush against the sensitive skin tucked away in the crease of his pelvis. One light stroke of the pad of your thumb there had the muscles in his lower belly quivering in that all too delicious way you had come to yearn for.

It was only once he was fully erect, his cock hard and throbbing, that you popped the head of him from your mouth with a soft, wet noise that sounded louder than perhaps it would have in a larger space. A small string of your saliva connected the two of you still, and it was then that Alastor finally gave in and reached for you.

One calloused hand came to cup the connecting spot of sensitive skin between your earlobe and jaw; the man pressed lightly on this pressure point and you found your mouth opening as if some other power other than your own made the muscle there react. And you remained as such, some instinctually deep, feminine knowledge welling up from within you as you knew you had captured his full attention.

Alastor’s dark eyes swept over your features; the muscles in your thighs were corded slightly from your position, but your torso was held straight, the small curvature to your tummy now a little more noticeable as your weight was distributed from this new position. The rest of your lovely curves were on open display, your breasts heaving slightly as your own excitement began to build. 

Paired with your plump lips and your bright, overly adoring eyes locked on his own gaze, Alastor felt himself twitch in response.

Your name fell from his lips yet again, this time the sound of one of reverence, his smooth dialect washing over your exposed self like some warming balm. 

The man shifted his hips, bringing the weeping tip of his considerable length to nudge against your bottom lip, smearing pre-cum along the length of it before his thumb moved from its spot by your jaw in order to collect it. His thumb pressed quickly to the inside of your mouth, your eager tongue darting to catch the lingering taste of him, salty and slightly bitter.

“Go on, sweet girl,” he crooned down to you then, a smirk curling the corners of his mouth and crinkling the edges of his brown eyes. “Show daddy how it’s done.”

Shifting forward on your knees, you opened your mouth further and, as you were presented with your prize, you returned him into the cavernous warmth that was your mouth. Your gaze held his for a long moment, perhaps  _ challenging  _ him to continue to throw a fit about taking a nap without you, or maybe something else entirely that wasn’t completely known to you just yet, you finally dropped it and fluttered your eyes closed. 

At first, you focused on his tip, suckling and then removing yourself from having him in your mouth to press a kiss to the weeping slit without any regard to how his pre-cum ended up shining your lips. It didn’t last long there, to be fair, as your tongue was eager to collect any and all taste that was wholly  _ him.  _

“You taste good…” you murmured, pressing the pad of your tongue to the slit of him to collect as much as you possibly could. But you supposed more experimenting could wait, and returning your enclosed mouth over his cock one again, you blessedly began to lead him deeper. Hollowing your cheeks and reminding yourself to breathe through your nose, you left your one hand how it was, feeling the twitching of his internal muscles, and moved the other to grasp at his balls gingerly. 

You gave an experimental squeeze and reopened your eyes to peer up, curiously, at him as if to ask ‘ _ is this good enough?’. _

Alastor’s pupils were so dilated, at first glance they looked nearly wholly consumed by black. The hand that had been cupping your jaw had moved when you had, his fingers twisting into the strands at the back of your head. His touch was delicate enough to allow you freedom of movement; that pressure tightened when your gaze flicked upwards to meet his.

His slim hips stuttered under the attention you were lavishing on him; with the hand at his sack still cradling and tugging gently as your lips remained stretched around his length. Your eyes, wide and bright even in the dimness, were shining with something that immediately set his core on fire and yet, at the same time, made his chest constrict.

In an instant, the uncomfortable pressure behind his sternum flared again, the man aware of the uptick in his pulse. Painful palpitations squeezed his chest until he was able to forcibly drag in a deep breath to combat against it.

The uncomfortable emotionally charged moment, so at opposites with the actual occurrence, saw a dip in Alastor’s drive for the briefest of moments. In the span of a second, he was able to focus again on you, his fingers grasping behind your head loosening once more.

You recognized the hesitation in his form, despite how quickly he placed his internal walls up; you were familiar enough now by his more physical responses to your touch, sensing the sudden stiffness in his frame. You dropped the hand from between his thighs and moved back to sit on your haunches; the hand on his pelvis shifted as you went to pop him from your mouth.

Nimble fingers grasped your cheeks, his palm resting against the bottom of your chin; you blinked, mouth still opened as an instinctual response to the quickness behind Alastor’s movement. Given your slightly puckered lips and the fact that his cock was still proudly presented to your line of sight, you settled for merely shooting him a cautionary glare. You had been enjoying yourself, dammit, in spite of the original reason behind your actions.

“Did I say we were finished, doll?” Alastor’s tone was steely, each word crisp as though he was seeking to hide the rare break in his mask.

His pointer finger tapped against the curve of your cheekbone it was rested against; his eyes washed over your features for a brief pause before his trademark smirk twisted his lips. The grip of his fingers lightened just enough to allow your mouth to ease back into a more comfortable position; your tongue darted to wet your lips, the pair of you holding the other’s gaze.

“Open up.”

A sharp, abrupt note of arousal blossomed in your core at the sound of his command; however, your knees and calves were once again beginning to ache, the tile beneath your skin cold as the warmth gifted by the bath left your muscles. Swallowing against the thudding of your pulse in your ears (Lord, why did his voice alone have this effect on you?), you blinked up at him and obediently parted your lips, nothing but a soft puff of air escaping you.

A look akin to self-righteousness passed over Alastor’s handsome face before your focus was overwhelmed by the feeling of his length. The tip was weeping copiously now as he pushed past your bottom lip and settled heavily on your tongue. He let you adjust to the fit of him, pausing only a moment and then pushing his hips forward.

Your shared inexperience was clear in the way he immediately hit the back of your throat and your resulting gag. Your eyes watered and your mouth filled with saliva at the bruising feel; to his credit, Alastor withdrew enough that you could suck in a ragged breath.

“Breathe, little bird.” the man cooed to you, his hand at your chin once again pressing upwards so that you could lock still-watery eyes with him.

Another breath filled your lungs, followed by another, as though you automatically reacted to his voice; it was only once the remaining tears had dried from your eyes did Alastor push forward again, his tone caressing your form as he crooned your name.

This time, his second hand came to cup the other side of your jaw, leaving his fingers splayed and his thumbs resting just under the sensitive skin of your eyes. Now his warm palms cradled your head, allowing you to relieve some of the strain on your neck. He stroked the pad of one thumb there, just as his hips pushed towards your chin.

“Relax your jaw, sweetheart,” Alastor’s eyes flashed brazenly, his rather sardonic smirk faltering slightly as he began to set a slightly faster pace.

He had to settle for shallow thrusts to ensure you could continue to breathe through your nose. With his hands tenderly supporting your neck and jaw, you found you could stay lax and simply let him thrust as he pleased, your focus on taking in enough oxygen that you wouldn't choke on him again.

You could taste him on your tongue, thick and bitter as he started climbing towards his completion. His unique and heady scent overwhelmed your sense of smell as you pulled in steady breaths; your mouth began to water, saliva pooling until it was dribbling over your bottom lip as Alastor continued to use you.

“You take me so well,” his words came floating to you over the lewd sounds filling the air, his voice soft and full of adoration (your core  _ blazed _ at the thought). “You take everything I give you so sweetly, no one else will ever do.” 

Everything felt so sudden and far away at the exact same time, the idea that he could reach his completion so quickly with you was something that made a sense of  _ humbleness  _ encompass your being; the knowledge that you would be the only one to ever feel him like this caused an overwhelming presence of the word ‘ _ good’  _ in your minds eye. 

Your cheeks were heavily blushed in that moment, and while the tiling and the coldness of the room was a direct opposite of the roaring flame that you felt in your chest, you couldn’t help but peer up at him as he worked himself closer and closer. 

An equally heavy blush coated his cheeks, the tips of his ears, and around the base of his nose; a truly blissed out expression that made your thighs clench and your heart threaten to explode for the sheer affection you felt in that moment - the fact that you were able to do this for him, be this relief for him, made all of the things he did for you a bit easier to digest. 

He didn’t know how beautiful he truly was, which was surprising for such an egotistical man, but as you became aware that his hair wasn’t in fact  _ curly  _ when it became wet, but in fact wavy, you began to realize that there were a lot of things that you probably assumed but had gotten wrong.

_ His innocence— _

You shut down that thought immediately and brutally, and instead remained positioned where you were, your head lax in his hands as he continued to climb towards his pleasure. 

There was something about the idea of him using you for such a thing that made that sharp spark of desire begin to flame. But instead of touching yourself, all you could do was peer up at him adoringly until you let out a heavy breath through your nose and pinpointed your attention to his leg. It wasn’t like you could tell him to cum, but with the increase of his noises and the slightly briney taste overwhelming your sense, you reached out and pressed your right hand to his thigh and gave a subtle squeeze.

At the touch of your hand, as well-intentioned as it was, Alastor felt the tell-tale tingle of exasperation at the sensation, the moment drawing him slightly from his own reverie. His hips gave a bit of a brutish thrust; whether in instinctual response to the feel of your skin or as if he briefly sought retaliation, even he couldn’t be sure.

It was this fleeting second of violence, the slight widening of your eyes in surprise as Alastor surged forward a little too much so that his girth tagged your gag reflex. You gave a muted groan of warning, your jaw lax and aching; the final sparks needed to propel him over the edge. Your name tumbled from his lips with a strained groan, as though he too was slightly caught off guard by the sharp flaring of pleasure in his center.

You could do little more than do your best to keep breathing, the noise decidedly more ragged than before as he filled your mouth, salty and yet distinctly  _ him _ . Alastor’s hands pressed a bit too firmly on the sides of your cheeks for you to swallow easily, and he remained pressed to your tongue until he had finished pulsating.

Alastor pulled himself away from your abused mouth with a soft, obscene noise, his harsh breathing matching your own. You quickly moved to swallow and wipe what remained on the back of your hand, noting how swollen your lips had become. Your neck tensed as you moved to try rolling your shoulders, your body protesting the new range of movement allotted back to you now. Your legs were slightly numb and shook when you attempted straightening them out.

Your new center of gravity threw your balance off slightly as your sore frame went to pitch sideways; however, steady, warm hands caught you by the elbows and you were quickly hitched up into strong arms.

Alastor sat on the edge of the long-since drained tub and simply cradled you to his slim chest until the sounds of your combined breathing began returning to normal. The man rested his face to the side of your cheek, his nose digging lightly into the juncture of your jaw; you felt a small twinge of discomfort as the joint complained but you didn’t seek to pull away from him.

“Well then,” he murmured, his tone his usual crisp clip, although you noted (with glee) that he sounded wistful. “Good show, darling.” 

While his tone of voice reminded you of your original plan, you couldn’t help but feel that surge of suffocating affection once again. Your tongue came to peek out from between your lips, perhaps to taste the last remains of his presence there only mere moments ago, or some other reason that you couldn’t really think of in that moment - far too taxing while you simply wanted to be with  _ him.  _

You knew talking would be a discomfort for you for the moment (something that you really ought to have thought about because how else were you going to communicate with his mother when you were constantly rubbing your jaw?) and so you simply pressed your cheek closer to his own, your arms coming around the base of his neck to anchor yourself to him. 

Still, that didn’t mean you weren’t any less manipulative than before, and if you needed to pull a few strings to get what you wanted, you would. Yes, you were innocent and a genuinely ‘good girl’ like many were, but when it came to him, it was as if some force called to your darker desires and encouraged them to come play. 

Unbeknownst to you, however, your ‘darker desires’ would  _ never  _ compare to his. 

“Sleep now,” you finally managed, peeling back from him to instead smoosh your noses together. You pecked his lips in a chaste kiss as you let your eyes flutter shut in the pressure of his own against yours as you pressed your lips to his again and again. “Please, you need it, m’love…”

The groan that slipped past his lips was more a sort of childish whine than anything, and you couldn’t help the puff of laughter that escaped your own. Alastor sought to remedy this by hastily moving to slot his lips to yours, taking care to tug gently on your bottom lip as he pulled back.

“S’pose you’re right,” he muttered, sounding more sullen than you were used to hearing from him as he smashed his nose back to the tip of yours. “You’ll stay in the house…” the man trailed off, perhaps hearing the brisk tone of possessiveness in his own voice; now that the moment of your odd powerplay had come to pass, he doubted you would be so open to such an attitude.

The bathroom was suspiciously barren of any other signs of life (or what might be arguably a parody of life), but Alastor could still feel the lingering paranormality in the air, whether from his own shadow or the nosy little thing that had come looking for you, he wasn’t sure. Regardless, the fine hairs on his arms stood to attention even though the room was quiet and otherwise completely unassuming in its atmosphere.

That didn’t mean it would necessarily stay as such, however, and at the very thought the man felt a tick develop in his left temple; an unmistakable sign of his exhaustion and overworked brain. 

Alastor fixed this by simply pressing his face to yours more (surprisingly possible given the lack of personal space to begin with) and rubbed against you; his still-damp hair cool and causing goosebumps to flare down the nape of your neck at the contrast between this and his warm breath washing over your skin. 

“Yes,” you assured him. “I’ll still be here when you wake up,” you murmured, “We both will. I promise.” Although you usually had a mouth and a half to give him a daily dose of pain-in-the-ass, you were eager and now very much awake in comparison to the idea of sleep that he seemed to have trouble resisting. 

You pulled back after pressing a kiss to the tip of his nose and offered him a soft smile despite your lower facial muscles protesting it. With that, you moved to turn and cover yourself with the towel again, only after tossing him his own. It was a bit more difficult getting back up from a crouched position now that your body was actively creating another human being, and so you had to lean on the sink to help you up. 

When you shot him a look, you let out a light laugh. “You sir, are very lucky you don’t have to deal with this.” You pointed to the small rounding to your stomach. Although, he still had to deal with you…? Nah. Your situation was worse, let’s face it. 

Alastor’s eyes swept over your form, his gaze lingering on the curve of your belly. Despite the blatant exhaustion lining his face and the sated relaxation held in his musculature, there was a hint of pride on his face all the same.

“It suits you,” he murmured, so lowly the sound barely reached you over the enclosed space that existed between you. One of his hands reached for you; only once your fingers interlaced with his did Alastor move into the unoccupied space. “You’re lovely, sweetheart.”

‘ _ And mine, _ ’ the voice in his mind supplied.

‘ _ Ours, ours, ours… _ ’ came the responding answer, goosebumps flaring at the nape of his neck as it always did when  **something** crossed the thin line between this world and the Other.

It was with a firm yet coaxing tug that Alastor had you moving forward; your thighs and legs protested the move slightly, your knees twinging a bit. You were grateful, then, when he kept his word and the two of you padded silently back down the hallway; it was now lit by the late afternoon glow and much less imposing filled with soft light and faint shadows.

The fact that one shadow, in particular, seemed to watch as you both passed, gleaming eyes blinking into existence once your heels had moved away, was lost on you. It stretched, form undulating and pulsating along the run of the baseboards as if to keep track of you.

It bled under the crack at the bottom of the door to Alastor’s bedroom, nothing more than a formless inky-black mass. It sought shelter under the nearest bedpost, watching curiously as the two of you dressed.

Despite his tiredness, Alastor seemed to delight in allowing himself to stroke your skin as much as he pleased while he helped you dress (you had a suspicion it was another “borrowed” dress of his mother’s but it fit well enough and was comfortable). You happily returned the favor, taking the time to place small kisses on his skin as you buttoned up the shirt he had chosen.

It was only once you had him actually tucked into the bed like some overgrown, monstrous child did you finally take your chance to leave; you were hindered once, as Alastor pulled you back and you all too willingly submitted to a smattering of kisses dotted to the sides of your face.

“Stop, you big brute,” you teased him, gracing him with a proper kiss; his eager lips caused your own to twitch as though threatening to smile. “I’ll wake you up before too long, promise.”

The man simply hummed lowly; you moved to the door and glanced back, watching as he took off his glasses and flopped rather dramatically back onto his pillows. You rolled your eyes, murmuring in mimicry of him when he called a soft goodbye. 

_ What a sap. _

The soft shuffle of your feet moving back down the hallway stirred the small shadow from its hiding spot. It trickled through the various nooks and crannies until it was able to reach the tail end of your own shadow, wholly inanimate and human in its form. The smaller shade stretched a misty tendril outwards as you passed, and it promptly hitched a ride.

If it had possessed a discernible face, it might have worn a look so full of smugness it would have rivalled even the smarmiest of radio hosts. Unbeknownst still to you, the shadow circled itself about your shoulders like an affectionate housecat, void-like eyes staring through the cover of your loose hair. 

If you had noticed it, you probably would have screamed. But for the sake of your sanity and perhaps the fact that you would have woken Alastor up after struggling to get him to sleep for just one more hour— 

Just as you were about to walk into the kitchen in hopes to grab a glass of water (you always found yourself parched after a bath or shower), the form of a very familiar dark toned, prim and proper woman stepped out. You skidded to a halt a moment too late, a soft gasp making its presence known as you bumped into her - perhaps at your own shock of it all.

She was a beautiful woman, you wouldn’t doubt that, and you had a hard time understanding why  _ white supremacists  _ thought that they were better just by… skin tones. His mother was a lovely sight and you hoped that when you got older, you would remain youthful as she did. There was her skin, peppered with darkening freckles upon a slightly lighter base, and her hair was short and wavy, appearing gelled but instead it simply being the shine of her hair. 

She had Alastor’s eyes, which only made your heart compress. You wondered if your child would too - how wonderful that would be.

“Oh, Maggie!” You enjoyed calling her ‘Mama’, but in cases where you were caught off guard like these, you settled for second best. “I’m so sorry, are you okay?”

Maggie let out a soft peal of musical laughter, the sound soft and wholly motherly, you felt your chest constrict again.

“Oh, don’t mind me, honey!” Maggie said, flapping a dainty hand with the same level of zany energy you had seen in her son; you wondered briefly if they were perhaps more hummingbird than human. “My own fault for blazin’ in here like a firecracker.”

Her dark eyes swept over your form; you thought you caught them lingering on your hair, and you demurely moved to push your hair back behind your ears. You hadn’t done much except run your fingers through it after the bath and you suddenly pictured yourself as you must be: messy-haired, barefooted and wearing her dress of all things.

“Alastor gave me…” you trailed off, suddenly feeling shy under her close scrutiny.

You chided yourself softly when you watched her pretty face light up, her hands coming up once again to beat at the air as if your comment was offending.

“Hush now, don’t you worry. It looks better on you anyway,” Maggie chuckled warmly; you felt your lips move to mimic the soft grin on her own face. “You’re a welcome sight given who’s usually lurking in my house.” she gave you a cheery wink, patting your arm as she moved back into the cozy kitchen.

“Hungry, love?” she called over her shoulder, already bustling over to the ice chest in the corner. 

Your mouth opened and then closed again, eyes tracking the woman with a bit of confusion with how quickly she could get from point A to point B - your finger had also already been in the air as an attempt to explain yourself (rather the fact that Alastor, for some reason, just had his mother’s clothes on hand; what a weirdo) before you lowered it and blinked away your surprise. 

“Yes, actually,” you said a bit softer before moving to follow after her. Your stomach let out a rather particular growl, and your hand flew over it, a small blush appearing on your cheeks in record timing given the fact that how you were with Alastor - which was often just adrenaline on steroids affecting your personality - was not often how you were with people of… norm. 

“And um, I’ll return your clothes after I wash ‘em at home.” You began to follow after her like some lost puppy that was eager to please, which in short wasn’t entirely wrong. Due to Alastor’s height, it was undoubted that the woman before you was also taller than the norm, but not by much thankfully. You only had to stand on your tippy-toes to peer over her shoulder into the ice box. 

Your stomach rumbled again, before you settled back down onto level ground. 

“Al is sleepin’ by the way, I got him to go to sleep because he was falling asleep when we were—“ Oh, please stay turned around, for the love of god, your nervousness made you say too much and if she did turn around she would undoubtedly see that you were burning up. “We were… uh…” your eyes drifted over to the countless taxidermies. “Talking about his deer heads and how he likes hunting!” 

If only your voice wasn’t an octave higher which was an obvious sign that you were lying. 

Maggie hummed, straightening up with a number of jars and a small package wrapped in butcher's paper, “Alastor’s the type to take to something and really take to it,” she paused, throwing you a causal yet still oddly piercing look over her shoulder as she moved to the counter. “Although I’m sure you know what I mean.” 

You sputtered slightly; the blush that had been light upon your cheeks flamed in that instance, the sharp knowing glint to Maggie's eye all too telling. Your mouth dropped, words caught in your throat. 

Maggie laughed, her eyes crinkling in the same manner as Alastors when he was overcome with some fit of belly laughter. 

"Oh sweet girl," Maggie dropped the items she had been holding and turned to sweep you into her arms; she peered down into your face, her own features relaxed and soft. 

Still, personal space clearly meant nothing to these people. 

"Like I said, don't mind me. I'm afraid my Allie's not the only one with a strange sense of humor," she raised a hand to tuck your hair back so she could collect it on one side of your neck. 

Her eyes flickered over the exposed side of your skin, and with another beat of panic you mined your memory to recall if Alastor had marked you at any point; Lord have mercy if you had to explain  _ that _ . 

Unsighted still by you, from the loose coils of your tresses, the small shade somehow managed to convey a sense of contritness at being found out, its beady eyes squinting up at the older woman. 

"You're family now, you'll catch on, honey." Maggie’s gaze returned to meet your own, her smile bright. "I don't doubt that."

You let out a long sigh, the tension in your body leaving in an instant as you managed to beam back up at her; albeit, your cheek muscles did protest it, and as such, you brought your hand up to tenderly wrap at your jaw. The more you remained in her presence though, the more you felt your walls crumbling beneath - she had that motherly ‘knowing’ look to her and, to be honest, you sort of understood it as some sort of unearthly power. 

Would you inherit that power, you wondered? Kids having kids, imagine. Although you were very much a capable adult, you were still incredibly young - Alastor was a more acceptable age-range, in your opinion, but that was just your opinion. Said opinion was based on the fact that you had zero idea what you were doing, ever. 

“Thanks,” you replied, “I’m really appreciative of you, Mama. I hope you know that…” Your thoughts faltered as you moved past her to look into the bin. Frozen biscuits and an assortment of other foods that were preserved for a later time. Your stomach gave another rumble, and you huffed a breath at it. “Any food you prepare is wonderful,” you turned around with a small spin and for a split second, nausea crept up your throat.

Bad idea.

“Ah, I mean, heh, you’re a very good cook. That gumbo you made last time was really good! Maybe you could teach me the recipe, or I’ll bother Alastor to teach me… I just.”

Perhaps realizing that you were rambling in your nervousness, you licked your lips and rubbed the back of your neck (you briefly felt something akin to frighteningly cold air, but it dissipated just as quickly as your attention to it did).

“I want to learn how to be a good mom, and my mother didn’t really teach me how to cook a lot of dishes.” 

You cleared your throat and looked down at your belly. It was a visible bump beneath the fabric, no matter how small it was. “Can… I ask you a question, Mama?” You played with the fabric for a moment before looking up to her. “How did you know you could do it? That you could be a mother?”

Perhaps sensing your unease, the shadow dissipated in a thin mist from around your shoulders. It blinked back into existence well across the room, curling around the legs of the boot rack sitting near the back door.

Now puttering over the stovetop where a large pan was already starting to sizzle, Maggie paused as an odd tension seemed to pass over her, until she straightened a little more and turned to face you. There was an odd, indescribable look on her face; you felt your insides squirm, unsure if perhaps your intimate questioning had gone a bit too far.

Maggie’s dark eyes were shrewd and when she met your look, you had the abrupt thought that you were suddenly looking at the  _ woman _ she was, rather than the matronly mask adopted for society’s means. Her smile was still on her face, soft and oddly humble.

“No one ever really is, honey,” Maggie’s tone was gentle, quiet, as she folded her arms over her chest and leaned back against the counter. “Some fools might think they are, but then that babe will come along and turn you on your head.”

“Now,” she gave a gentle laugh, her grin lighting up her face. “I won’t lie to you and say you’ll have an easy time of it; Lord knows any child of my sons is bound for trouble, but,” here she paused to begin unwrapping the butcher’s paper — some kind of red-ish coloured meat sat there — and slicing up pieces for the pan.

“You’ll learn just as they do, find things that work and that don’t.” The meat was dropped in, immediately sizzling as the fat met with the coating of the pan. Spices and some larger herbs were thrown in as well; the smell was both earthy and yet oddly sweet, instantly setting your mouth to watering.

“Best you do is love ‘em,” Maggie turned back to you then, pausing to reach out and take you gently by the shoulders. Her hands squeezed briefly, lightly, before she lowered them. “Love them right, and they’ll do alright in the end.”

Smile still on her face, the older woman turned from you again to move back to the counter, where she set to chopping up various vegetables; onions, tomatoes and potatoes, until they too were added to the stovetop. 

There was a strange sense of comfort that came with her words, that motherhood and parenthood didn’t come with pre-determined knowledge, that you honestly had to figure it out as you went and hope for the best. 

When you opened your mouth but found no words left it, you nodded slightly to yourself before moving to stand by her side. It was such a lovely, dainty household - you briefly wondered if it had been inherited by Alastor’s father, because as free as they were, the world was still very much unfair. You decided that it wasn’t your place to ask.

Not yet, at least.

The scent of spices and the sound of the sizzling meat pulled you out of your thoughts, and you turned to take in her movements and decisions on how to cook it well. Observation was often a useful tactic for you, and it seemed right now wouldn’t be much different than the usual way you learned. You weren’t the biggest fan of spices (a rather picky eater, and blasphemy considering New Orleans was  _ very  _ spicy in more ways than one), but somehow the woman knew how to make it just right. 

“So, Alastor… he said something last night that’s been on my mind,” you started slowly. “He said that I was  _ bigger  _ than he thought I would be, which of course can just be… him being Alastor.” Aka, stupid. “And y’know when I woke up, I realized maybe he was right? I don’t know… how baby bumps are supposed to look like right now.” Uncertain and perhaps even a bit embarrassed, you let the statement hang in the air for a moment. 

“... Can you take a-“

The back door suddenly burst in with enough intensity to shake the entire room, and you immediately bristled from the shock of it all like some fearful cat. A woman came through, darker in color than Alastor or Maggie, with curly black hair, but sporting a yellow sun-dress and a hat that went with her look far too well. She looked to be between your and Alastor’s age, if not leaning closer to his. 

“ _ Gooood _ afternoon everybody!” She had a raspy but genuinely friendly and entertaining voice built for talk-shows and what not, and for a long moment you simply stared as this strange woman who you had never seen before burst into the home like she owned the place. Her pretty dress flowed behind her, stitched together with what appeared to be a lace bow around her waist. 

She also was carrying four baskets of various spices and foods, from what you could see. When she spotted you, she seemed to freeze in her movements as if genuinely caught off guard, before loud gasp fled from her mouth. 

“OH MY STARS! Is that who I think it is!? Mama Maggie, please! If I knew she was over I would have dressed  _ up! _ ” 

You shot a look towards Maggie. 

Maggie’s grin was still on her lips as she gave you a look in return. Her eyes rolled in an exaggerated way before she turned to address the other newcomer; although judging by her sense of ease and confidence, you had a feeling you were the real newcomer in the situation.

“Child, if you come in any louder, the whole damn neighborhood will know our business,” Maggie scolded the other, although her tone was gentle if not a bit mocking. “And yes,” the older woman reached over to pinch your cheek lightly as she gave your name to the other.

“Ain’t she just the sweetest?”

“She sure is!” The other cried, seemingly only cowed by Maggie’s reprimand for so long. She swept her hat off her freshly curled hair and patted it down while giving you a more thorough look. Her eyes were wide and expressive as she took you in. “I have to be honest, Mama, I didn’t believe Allie when he told me!”

Maggie, who had turned back to the stove and was now stirring the heavenly smelling concoction, hummed lightly.

You blinked, feeling as though your brain was lagging a bit over the tumultuous pace of their exchange.

“Um,” you started, your hands instinctively coming to smooth over the material that covered the slight curve of your middle. “I-uh-I’m sorry, I don’t… sorry, who are you?” you managed to blurt finally.

“Oh!” The new girl gasped again, stopping to smooth down her own dress and pat at her hair again before moving closer to you. “I’m Amélie! Amélie Doucet! ‘Course, Allie-cat did end up calling me ‘Lee-lee’ until his front teeth grew back in when he was seven or so.”

She said this all very fast and extended an expectant hand in your direction. 

Slowly, you reached out and took her hand in your own, offering your own name in return. Suddenly, a rush of memories flooded back to the moment that Alastor had mentioned a ‘Amélie’, and while you were still a bit shy around newcomers, you couldn’t help but be affected by her very exuberant behavior. A smile twitched at your lips, and while she shook your hand with enthusiasm, you greeted her back. 

“Nice to meet you, Amélie!”

And then, thinking back on her chosen nickname, you couldn’t stop the giggle that burst from your lips. “Allie-cat? Like… an alley cat?” So it seemed that Alastor’s love for corny jokes extended further out into his close-knit circle of friends and family. “I like the name, I’ll be sure to tease him with it.” 

It was also nice to meet others that meant something to him. After all, he was an oddball, and you were starting to doubt that you’d ever meet anyone other than his mother - you had begun to wonder if there  _ was  _ anyone other than his mother or Mimzy that he truly hung around. He seemed to enjoy the company of women rather than men, you were growing to find. 

“Do you want help with those?” Your eyes fell to what appeared to be heavy baskets, and while you weren’t referring to picking them up as she had already put them down onto the small table, you did mean by putting the contents away. There wasn’t an immediate response, and so you looked back up to Amélie and Maggie. 

Amélie’s expression was shocked, while Maggie’s had a warm look upon hers.

“What?”

Slowly, Amélie placed her sunhat to her chest. “I just never thought— Maggie, can you believe it?” 

Maggie shook her head. 

“ _ What?”  _

They both looked at you then. 

“You’re white.” Amélie said bluntly, and you suddenly felt  _ very  _ exposed and also very confused. 

“Yeeeah?” You dragged the word out, eyebrows knitted together. 

“I just never thought that I would see someone that was white… be kind.”

Oh.

You blinked. 

It made sense now. She thought...

“I’m… not like them, I swear. I see everyone as a human being and with equal rights as anyone else. I-I wasn’t really expecting for any of this to happen and I definitely didn’t think I was going to get  _ pregnant—“ _

Amélie held up a hand as if to interject your rambling; she wore a sudden, strangely closed expression on her face, a complete turn around to the energy she had entered with. Your already twisted and nervous stomach gave a jolt as she addressed you with her arms folded over her chest again.

“I’d expect to hear nothin’ less from the white girl who thinks she can waltz in here and just  _ steal  _ aw-”

Amélie’s overly dramatic monologue was cut short by Maggie throwing the dish towel at her; it hit the other girl full on the face so that it mostly hung over her features.

“Amélie, you wretched thing!” Maggie cried, although there was an all too obvious note of glee in her voice as she turned back to the sizzling pan. “Stop  _ teasin’ _ the poor girl, that’s my grandbaby in there, you’re just stressin’ her!”

Amélie gave a sharp note of laughter, although to her credit she did look a bit sheepish when she pulled the towel from her head and faced you. She gave a noncommittal shrug and offered you a modest, gentle smile.

“Sorry, I’m just not used to chattin’ to white folks much. We’re a close bunch here, I’m sure you’ve noticed.” Amélie gestured at the boxes still on the table, her body language back to the pleasant and confident girl she had first been. “I’ve been helping Maggie for a few years now and the walking Cypress tree you call beau, well, we go way back! Allie’s a pain but he’s  **our** pain.”

The girl gave you a thorough look, slightly at odds with the easy grin still on her face. You were abruptly reminded again that although you had the benefit of knowing your genuine intentions, for all it looked like to many in Alastor’s community, you were the suspicious one. 

Yay…

“He is,” you agreed, managing a smile again; although, to be fair, you felt a bit uncomfortable with the entire situation. Without Alastor around, you felt… out of your element, vulnerable, uneasy. He was your anchor, able to help you out of your points of anxiety and become rather brash and… very much unlike how you were with newcomers. 

Perhaps sensing your discomfort and the standstill of the conversation, Maggie turned back towards tending to the food, a small hun on her lips as she flipped the steak onto its other side. 

“Now honey, what was it that you were flappin’ your gums about?” The woman turned to face you, the spatula in one hand pointing while her other was on her hip. 

“Oh, I uh… Was wondering if you could check if the baby was okay.” 

“Oh heavens, is there any reason it wouldn’t be?” There was a sudden serious tone to Amélie’s voice, enough so that it caused your attention to falter from Maggie’s warm brown eyes to the woman’s. She appeared to be genuinely concerned, if not for your sake, but for the baby’s. 

“No! No, I don’t think so, I just… Alastor said it was bigger than he thought it would be for-“ how long had it been again? “-about eight weeks.” 

Amélie eyed you closer - her eyes were darker than both Maggie and Alastor’s, but sharp and knowledgeable as she swept them over your form.

“Well, you know Mama Mags here is the finest midwife I know,” Amélie moved forward with her hands raised placidly. “And I just happened to be her best student,” she paused to look at Maggie, one shapely eyebrow raised. “Can I steal your sofa for a second, Mama?”

Maggie hummed, her attention back on the savoury smelling food she was still stirring slowly; great plumes of spiced and aromatic steam were beginning to waft about the kitchen. Your stomach rumbled, matched with a slight spike of nausea; you slightly regretted having to leave the kitchen and the wonderful smelling food behind, but Amélie’s hand landed on your elbow and she promptly steered you into the living room with no time for you to protest.

Not that you  _ would _ have, of course, your curiosity was burning at a peak; but some warning for a nauseous pregnant girl would be welcome.

“Lie down for me?” Amélie’s voice was soft, perhaps adopting the tone she used with her other expecting patients. “Just prop your head up a bit, but try and stretch out if you can.”

You shifted yourself into the position as she asked, taking the time to grab one of the decorative looking throw pillows and tuck it behind your head. Your hands moved then to smooth over the material of the dress, your palms coming to rest over the swell of your bump. Above you, Amélie hummed lightly, her teeth coming to worry her bottom lip.

“Ordinarily I’d rather do this hand-to-skin, but given that we’re just getting acquainted...” she paused, her lips twitching as though about to spread into a grin. “And besides, knowing a certain someone as well as I do, he’d probably prefer you stayed dressed.”

Amélie ran her gaze over your form once more, before moving forward and placing her palms on top of yours. She gave you a comforting squeeze, her face lighting up with a true smile.

“I’ll go slow; I just need you to tuck in the fabric more — yes, that’ll work — now,” she gently moved your hands back down to rest at your sides; the next, she had her palms against the curve of your belly. “I’m going to press a bit, see if you measure where you should be. If you’re right, I might not even be able to find -”

There was a beat; your heart leapt dangerously in your throat.

“F-Find what?” you murmured, your sudden rush of anxiety making your tongue heavy.

“I-uh..” Amélie cleared her throat, her hands moving to manipulate your tummy some more. You felt her press along the sides and then the top; her right hand remained pressed to the curve, while the other moved so she could use her fingers to measure the distance between the first hand and your belly button.

“You measure further along than you should, unless your math is off,” Amélie gave you another hawk-like look, her dark eyes suddenly shuttered behind mistrust. “Unless you might be  **lying** .”

“I’m not lying!” you snapped, your thundering pulse and mounting unease making it so your tongue was more venomous than usual; you felt a hot, needle-sharp pang in your chest at the thought of something having happened to your baby.

“Alastor will tell you, I’ll even go wake him up just to prove it to you!” While this very much could have been yet another grand example of your raging sea of hormones now plaguing your body at every moment, some of your anger (or so you thought) was justified.

Your maternal instinct, still new but  **loud** , roared that now was not the time for this conversation.

Amélie’s hands flew to stop you just as you tried to push yourself up; your anger made you a little sloppy so that you struggled slightly to even move your torso upwards.

“Wait, no, I’m sorry, I am,” she said soothingly; her palms pressed gently into your shoulders and with little resistance, you flopped back. You adopted what you hoped was a decent scowl, but didn’t oppose her when she moved to resume manipulating your tummy.

“Alastor means a lot to me,” she murmured quietly, her fingers now testing the spot just above your pelvic bone. It was startlingly intimate, and you were rather glad she continued speaking, if only to draw your attention away. “He’s like a brother, really, and I-well I forget myself.”

Amélie finally withdrew her touch; she straightened her spine and placed her hands on her hips, her teeth peeking through to nibble her bottom lip as she thought. With a click of her tongue, she finally moved her line of sight away from your middle and caught your eye. You caught a glimmer of humour in her eyes, and your pulse jumped in response, worry erasing the tight draw of your mouth.

“Well,” The other woman sighed after a moment’s pause; you found yourself holding your breath, as pathetic as that was. 

“There may be another reason,” here, Amélie was unable to hide her amusement; her teeth gleamed white as her smile spread across her pleasant face. 

“You wouldn’t happen to have a history of twins down your family line, now would ya?”


End file.
